Acheron
by Spike 558
Summary: The trials and tribulations of a Bretonnian Knight named Artios. Certain elements have been reworked and more stuff has been added. Previous errors in fic now corrected
1. I

**ACHERON**

* * *

**Author's Introduction**

Hello. I'm Spike and I have been interested in the Games Workshop for well over ten years (I started reading White Dwarf back in 1994!). In my time, I have fielded the Space Wolves and Elder in 40K, Chaos and High Elves in WFB, Bretonnian Knight and Elf Ranger in WHQ (anyone sense a pattern emerging?), Ratskins and Van Saar in Necromunda and Chaos and Skaven in Blood Bowl (phew!).

As mentioned above, I'm an avid fan of Warhammer Quest and I take my Bretonnian knight, Artois de Bordeleaux down into a dungeon on regular basis. So, this story is about my knight and his background. This was originally titled the _Black Winter Chronicles_ but has since gone so major changes (and not just the title).

It should be noted that in creating Artois, I wanted to do something different than the usual image of Bretonnian knights that everyone is familiar with. I was interested in creating an unorthodox Bretonnian knight and ending drawing a lot of imagery from the characters that populate Sergio Leone Westerns (i.e. _A Fistful of Dollars_, _the Good, the Bad and the Ugly_). Furthermore, I must confess a love of reading/writing stories involving a bad man sent out to kill an even worse man

Anyway I hope you like this story and have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

* * *

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **One

It was a scene that could only be described as complete and utter carnage.

What was once a simple Bretonnian village had now descended into a devastation of broken bodies, burning buildings and flame.

Where once stood buildings that were house and home to the peasants who inhabited this village, was now reduced to broken walls, flame torn stone and ash. Where there were once large sacks of food, meat and wine, were now pieces of canvas, slashed open, spilling hard-earned produce into mud. Where beasts of burden once grazed upon, was now tainted with the stench of roasting flesh. And when there used to be the sounds of human laughter and labouring, had now evolved into a deathly silence, split only by the sound of crows descending from the skies above.

And where once stood the residents of the village, lay bodies of men, women and children – some clutching weapons, some large pieces of timber and stone, some had facial expressions that spoke volumes of defiance but all were now masses of bone and flesh, disfigured by combat, half buried in the mud and stained red with blood.

But in the middle of the battle-torn village, something still stood. It was a tall man, bedecked in hideous black armour and carrying a massive axe. The man also had an unnatural pale flesh and long black hair.

The man surveyed the carnage. Every last villager who had once called this miserable shit-hole home was dead. All of them were peasants, judging by their shabby clothing, the fact that their hands were stained with hard labour and their inadequacies in the terms of armour and weapons. But what the man found puzzling was the lack of any knights in amongst the corpses. This made him wonder why none of the legendary knights had come to the peasant's aid. If the stores on what he heard of the mighty defenders of Bretonnia were true, a mighty force of knights would've come charging over to this location to deal with such an incursion. Would a Bretonnian Knight leave a village of peasants to die? It seemed unlikely.

But then again, the Bretonnians were also famed for their arrogance. If anything, it seemed doubtful that a knight would come here just to defend this tiny little, insignificant village. If anything it seemed highly likely that the lords of this province might come to notice the village's downfall should they receive no food or tribute from this corner of their domain.

Still, he had to give the peasants credit – judging from their facial expressions, these peasants were fighting with passionate vigour. They were fighting for their lives, their village and for each other. If they seemed aware of the impending doom that was looming above them, they certainly didn't show it. And if they were aware of the minimal damage their weapons would result against their foe they didn't seemed too bothered by such an ideal.

Such behaviour would be respected as an instance of incredible, unshakable courage to a normal human.

But to this particular man, it was a merely a Tuesday afternoon.

He lifted his axe and carefully ran an armoured finger across its blade. How many of the hapless peasants fell before him? He'd lost count after about……twenty.

Just then, the man's ponderings were interrupted by the sound of running feet. But he didn't need to turn around to see who it was - he already knew anyway.

"My lord" came a voice. "We are all ready for you and are awaiting your presence."

"Very well then" the man said "I shall come"

And with that Dundesh the Black, Chaos Champion of Slaanesh, got to his feet.

* * *

What was once the village square, was now home to a huge bonfire. In amongst the mud and rubble, has a tower of flame – and in the middle of it was a spit, roasting a cow. And all around the fire stood four warriors – each carrying an enormous weapon and wearing hideous black armour that declared unshakable loyalty to the Chaos God Slaanesh. And, in perhaps the most telling elements of the pact made with the forces of Chaos each of them had a distinctive attribute

One of them went by the name of Jan – he sported a ghastly face which boasted enormous fangs, pale flesh, a long tongue and eyes that bulged out of their sockets in Jan's skull. Also his right arm was gone, replaced instead with a mass of tentacles. He currently had a piece of freshly roasted cattle in his hand and was fasting on it with gusto.

The second Chaos Warrior answered to the name of Henrik. He was a deformed sight, who had his eyes hidden behind strips of black metal and his lips sewn shut. But his most striking feature was that his left hand was replaced with a head – This head was reptilian in shape, covered in green scales and boasted yellow eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth. The most disturbing fact with this attribute was that Henrik was picking up chunks of meat with his right hand which he then used to feed into the mouth of his reptilian hand.

Then there was Aleksis – a huge warrior who towered above his companions and who was easily the largest of the five. He was the only one present at the bonfire that had his face concealed underneath the distinctive spiky helmets that was so familiar with the warriors of chaos. And like the others, Aleksis sported an attribute that came from his patron deity – it came in the form of a massive tail that sported from the lower regions of his back – this tail resembled that found on scorpions. Also, his right leg had gone – in its place however was a long, thin, extremely inhuman leg that one would normally find on an insect. At the moment, Aleksis was occupied with the task of keeping the fire going. He achieved this by throwing on anything he could find: Some of these materials ranged from pieces of wood from the ruined buildings, the pre-prepared sacks of food, the peasant's clothing, and, frequently, the bodies of the peasants themselves.

The final Chaos Warrior was called Jorn. He had a huge bushy beard and long unkempt hair that betrayed his origins as being from Norsca. He also boasted huge muscular arms that ended with fingers that were long, hard and resembled the talons of an eagle. At the moment, he was busying himself with the peasants he had personally killed – by ripping off the head of the corpses and asking, to dead eyes, whether or not they considered him a mighty and handsome warrior.

Just then, two more warriors came to join the bonfire. The first one was named Raoul – a huge man who, like the others, clutched a massive axe and boasted an impressive suit of spiky black armour. He also continued to wear his own helmet – a hideous monstrosity which bore a red plume and the image of a skull as its face. And like the others, Raoul had the benefit of Chaos gifts – his came in the form of a pair of extra arms that both sported hands housing a range of lethal talons.

The second was Dundesh the Black, the leader of this group of Slaanesh warriors. Surprisingly, he differed from his companions in that his form showed no Chaotic attributes at all.

Recognising their leader approach, Jan, Aleksis, Henrik and Jorn all got to their feet.

Seeing his underlings gathered before him, Dundesh spread his arms before him.

"My comrades" he said. "Today has been a great day. We have slaughtered an entire village in the name of Slaanesh!"

At the mention of their foul master's name, the Chaos Warriors burst into roars and shouts of approval. Dundesh smiled before rasing his arms for silence.

"It has been a pleasure to deliver our master all of these pitiful souls! Just as it has been a privilege for him to guide us to this village and provide us with a full day's amusement!

"But for now, this day's slaughter is at an end. Now, we shall rest because tomorrow will be another day of killing in Slaanesh!!"

The five other warriors roared in delight.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the other end of the village, the now empty streets were choked with the smoke from burning buildings and the stench of blood. Apart from the screeching of several crows, eager to scavenge the flesh of the dead, and the celebrations of the Slaanesh warriors echoing from the town square all was silent.

Then, a new sound began echoing across this part of the village. It was the sound of armoured feet striding, through the mud. This was soon joined by the chink of armour against a wide range of swords.

And then, through the smoke, came a figure.

* * *

Back at the bonfire, the warriors of Slaanesh were all in full celebratory state of mind: The noise of their rapture echoed across the square in an amalgam of singing, the devouring of freshly roasted cattle, the slurping of alcoholic beverages and the bragging of how many hapless peasants they had killed on the day.

Dundesh relaxed back in a chair he had found – it seemed to be the speaking chair that would've most likely been used by the village hetman. The warrior smiled – that hetman wouldn't mind if he, Dundesh, kept the seat warm for him. It's not like he will be needing it any more…..

In Dundesh's hand was a tankard, containing a distinctly Bretonnian brew of beer. He smiled – It was only through pure chance this beer was located – When raiding one of the huts, Aleksis managed to find several barrels of this liquor stashed away in secret. It was concealed in a compartment hidden behind a wooden panel. Of course, such a discovery was found by accident when Aleksis drove his axe into the panel in an attempt to seem threatening to the hapless peasants.

And serendipity always has its benefits.

It was anyone's guess how the peasants had managed to acquire this liquor. Knowing the Bretonnian way of life, peasants aren't allowed access to such vintage. It was therefore most likely that they had stolen it from a knight somewhere and managed to keep it hidden, with the intention of having it for themselves later on.

Dundesh grinned at this thought – considering the effort the peasants went to hide this grog from their superiors, it would be a terrible shame for it all to go to waste.

The leader of the Chaos Warriors could feel his limbs relax as he pondered on the events of the past few days. A few weeks ago, Dundesh was in the Chaos wastes, fighting the eternal war that reigned throughout that doomed land. He had been fighting there for so long, and slain countless enemies of Slaanesh, that he had lost track of how long he had been fighting there – not that it mattered anyway. Fighting glorious battles for Slannesh was satisfaction enough.

It was however only a few weeks ago that Dundesh was struck by a premonition – it revealed to him the one piece of information that informed him that his destiny lay not in the Chaos Wastes themselves but south, in the civilised realms of men. Since then Dundesh, accompanied by a group of followers had been marching from up north. Due to their small numbers, the Warriors had been making their way as stealthily as possible through the coast along the borderline of the Empire. Of course it seemed absurd that they would make the effort to avoid any large conflicts but they satisfied their battle-lust by butchering small villages, small ships, any merchant caravans and anything they found that was worth slaughtering. Eventually, the warrior's journey along the coast brought them into the realm of Bretonnia – but even though this realm was famous for housing thousands of knights, the warriors were hardly bothered. For to have lot's of knights, the kingdom of Bretonnia had to have lot's of peasants to keep their needs satisfied. And it was this thought that directed to warriors of Slaanesh to any small village they could find and slaughter all who dared stand before them. Amazingly (although the divine intervention of their deity Slaanesh may have had something to do with it) they haven't been able to attract the attention of the knights and continually managed to escape any type of confrontation.

He smiled as he observed the scene of celebration before him – his warriors were all celebrating their victory in the typical Slaanesh fashion – Chanting, singing, drinking, devouring roasted meat and pulling apart of the corpses with unbridled passion.

Dundesh smiled before motioning to Raoul.

"I say" Dundesh said. "I do believe my tankard could to with some more ale"

"As you say my master" Raoul replied. He picked up one of the barrels of beer and reached for Dundesh's tankard. But he didn't take it.

Dundesh's brow furrowed in annoyance.

"What's wrong with you?!" he snapped. "I want more ale and I want it now! It surely can't be that too difficult a command!"

"My master!" Raoul said nodding in the direction in which he was facing "Look!"

His expression one of annoyance (he had not time for minor things when he should be downing more of the lovely ale) Dundesh followed the gaze of his underling.

There, emerging from the smoke was a figure. It advanced with a stride purposeful whilst maintaining a sens of rhythm in of a chink that betrayed the usage of heavy armour.

As the figure approached details of him slowly came into view: He was covered from his neck down in the heavy silver armour that was distinctive of the knights of Bretonnia. This was accompanied by a tunic arranged over the armour that was coloured by a split in the middle – one side was coloured blue whilst the other was white. The knight carried a shield that echoed the pattern arranged on the tunic. In the knight's hand was an enormous broadsword.

But what was unusual about this knight was, unlike the other knights of Bretonnia, this one didn't wear any kind of helmet. He had his head and face bare – revealing a mass of black hair that reached down to his shoulders. But the most striking feature about this man was that he possessed a remarkable pair of blue eyes.

Remarkable in that the eyes seemed to show no hint of emotion whatsoever.

Dundesh sneered at this newcomer. He then got to his feet and clapped his hands, thus sending the celebrations to an immediate halt. Jan, Aleksis, Henrik and Jorn all looked up attentively.

"Gentlemen" Dundesh said softly, nodding towards the approaching knight "it seems our master Slaanesh has benevolent enough to provide us with some sport"

The Chaos Warriors all grinned in anticipation and readied their weapons. But the knight continued to approach, his face showing no trace of emotion whatsoever.

Suddenly he stopped, several metres away from the bonfire.

The Chaos Warriors all sneered at him, but stood their ground – anticipating him to make the first move.

But the knight didn't charge into battle straight away. Instead, he proceeded into a succession of movements that can only be described as unusual behaviour for the Knights of Bretonnia. First, the knight calmly lowered his shield down in front of him. This was then followed by the act of driving his broadsword into the mud. He then reached into his belt and pulled out a cigar, which he then lit with a match from his other hand.

The knight then took a puff of his cigar, seemingly unaware of the Chaos Warriors whom had all gathered before him.

The Warriors all exchange bewildered glances. Then Dundesh's facial expression grew into a sneer.

"Hey look!" he called, making sure the knight could hear "Is that a Knight of Bretonnia I see before me?!"

The knight didn't reply. Instead, he continued smoking his cigar in a manner that could only be described as indifferent.

When he didn't receive the answer he wanted, Dundesh continued, his voice growing with mockery.

"No, that can't be a Knight of Bretonnia. I thought they charged into combat at the first sign of trouble!"

"So what would make this fool before us then?" Henrik inquired through his right hand.

"He must be an imbecile who thinks wearing armour makes him an invincible warrior!" Jan mocked.

This immediately sent the company of Chaos Warriors bursting into laughter. Following the lead of their commander, more taunts followed:

"Hey, when are you going to stop smoking that cigar and come down and fight?" Aleksis boomed. "I could show you a thing or two about wielding a blade properly!"

"Come on down and face me!" Raoul jeered "Or are you too busy soiling your armour?!"

"What's the matter?" Jorn called. "Aren't you man enough to fight a real man's battle?!"

Amazingly, the knight did not bat an eyelid – he continued smoking, his expression suggesting that he didn't even seem aware of the presence of the homicidal lunatics.

"One can only wonder what The King of Bretonnia must have been thinking when he sent a dog like you to deal with us!" Dundesh shouted.

And still the knight remained silent.

When no response still refused to come, Henrik grew angry. He turned to his leader.

"This is absurd!" Henrik snarled. "Sir, he can't take us all on at once! He surely must know that! Why else would he be procrastinating!?"

"Agreed!" Jorn growled. "Sir, give me the word and I'll break every bone in his body!"

"Silence!" Dundesh snapped.

All of the Chaos Warriors collectively adopted expressions of outrage and furious anger, their eagerness for combat being barely constrained. All except Dundesh, who managed to retain a calm composure (he wanted to keep a cool head - after all, they don't want to be mistaken for the brainless killing machines who follow Khorne).

"Tell me knight" the Chaos Champion sneered "Did we just destroy your village?!"

Still the knight said nothing and still he merely carried on smoking his cigar.

Dundesh didn't wait to hear for a reply nor did he care. He just went on:

"So what do you intend to do about it? Don't tell me you're thinking of taking us all on at once?"

At the mention of this the knight paused – as if his ears had just received something that was worth listening to. But it didn't take long before he shrugged.

Then, his hand gripped the hilt of sword and drew it up into the air – the blade pointing directly toward the Chaos Warriors.

To this Dundesh laughed.

"You hear that?" he mocked. "This imbecile seems convinced he can take us all on and win!"

To this the warriors all joined in with the laughter. The knight however didn't seem perturbed in the slightest.

"I admire your bravado sir knight" Dundesh continued, his voice growing increasingly laden with sarcasm "But tell me: Do you honestly believe that courage is a substitute for brains?"

And still the knight chose to remain silent. And still the Chaos Warriors grew furious with such audacious behaviour.

"Obviously you do!" the Chaos Champion jeered.

"Shall I take his head, my lord?" Jorn boomed, his facial expression blazing with furious annoyance at the knight.

"Do what you like with him" Dundesh replied "I am finding his silence rather tiresome"

Jorn nodded and with a roar he charged, his talons ready for action and his blade raised high above his head.

The knight however didn't seem too bothered by the potential of certain doom charging towards him. Instead he raised an eyebrow.

If Jorn noticed he certainly didn't show any signs of doing so. Instead he retained his talons in an outstretched position – it was his plan to use them to drive through the knight's skull and penetrate its way into his brain (and no doubt taking his eyeballs out with it). Once the knight is still, the warrior will then simply beat him into submission with his axe.

It seemed such a simple plan – but it was not to be.

The knight simply placed his cigar in his mouth before turning his back on Jorn – when he was mere inches away. Before Jorn could grasp what was happening, he found his talons were not going through the knight's skull but piercing through the space above the knight shoulder.

But he didn't have time to feel surprised – for massive, gauntleted fist came crashing it; way into his face. A crunch of bone followed as the blow made contact and any more thoughts Jorn had of charging were immediately cut short. The Chaos Warrior was sent backwards, reeling from the sudden impact of the blow. But this gave the knight the opportunity he was looking for: He immediately reached for the hilt of his broadsword and pulled out it from the mud. Then, in one swift movement, the knight drove the blade deep into the Chaos warrior. The broadsword penetrated its way past the warrior's armour and straight into his heart.

It all happened so quickly that Jorn had no idea what had happened – until his brain informed him that he was dead. With a look of utter amazement written all over his face, Jorn slid off the knight's sword. He then toppled over backwards and into the mud.

The other Chaos warriors blinked in utter amazement. The knight however, lowered his blade in the most nonchalant manner and reached up to retrieve the cigar from his mouth.

"Well that was a boring fight" he growled.

All of the remaining Chaos Warriors blinked, at the knight's sudden verbiage.

The knight took another puff from his cigar before then looking back up at the other warriors, a ferocious glare etched across his face….


	2. II

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Two

The knight glared at the five Chaos Warriors as if wanting to know who next would dare show issue a challenge.

"Well you certainly seem to have a degree of skill" Dundesh said. "I never thought it was possible to down one of my underlings

"But no matter – Your skills are indeed a challenge. And I shall have great pleasure in fighting someone as good you. And, better still, to beat you"

A genuine threat but the knight didn't bat an eyelid.

"Enjoy your victory while you can" Dundesh sneered, nodding towards his men "Because we haven't had a decent fight in many weeks and we are all really eager to spill some blood of a worthy foe.

"You should feel honoured that we consider you an opponent just ripe to be torn limb for limb as slowly and painfully as possible"

The knight merely shrugged.

Dundesh turned to his men.

"Last one in is a fat, ugly disciple of Nurgle"

Immediately, all five of the Chaos Warriors charged into battle. Aleksis, Raoul, Jan, and Henrik all thundered towards the knight as Dundesh led the way.

Being faced with five monstrosities baring down on him, the knight still didn't show nay signs of fear or intimidation whatsoever. Instead, he merely dropped his cigar – before bringing his foot down upon it in the mud. Then the knight stepped out from behind his shield and charged into combat, his broadsword gripped tightly in his hand.

Henrik was the first to reach the knight. He leapt into the air, his reptilian hand guiding all the movement and his halberd gripped tightly in the other. The reptilian hand grinned evilly at the knight with yellow, slitted eyes.

"I shall have your head you foolish knight" the hand rasped. And to prove such notion, Henrik brought his halberd down towards the knight.

But the blade never made contact. The knight had merely side-stepped out of the way – this ensuring the blade finding itself cleaving through empty space instead.

What happened next happened very quickly.

The knight's broadsword then came whistling through and sliced off Henrik's reptilian hand.

Henrik immediately stumbled over - his feet gave way and he collapsed into the mud.

The reptilian head came down into the mud – where it then found itself in a meeting by the underside of the knight's foot.

The knight smiled as his ears detected the sound of bone being crushed.

"No, it would seem I will have your head" the knight mocked.

But there was no time to savour the victory for his next opponent came bounding up, halberd at the ready.

Jan charged up to the knight, bringing his halberd around in a huge swooping arc. The knight instinctively ducked out of the way but the Chaos Warrior had anticipated such a move. Suddenly, to his horror, the knight found his sword hand being engulfed by a mass of swirling tentacles.

They came creeping towards him, to wrap themselves around his hand, his wrist and his blade.

The knight couldn't move. His hands and his sword were both stuck tight, unable to find enough space to swing. The knight was well and truly trapped.

Smiling in triumph, the Chaos Warrior then turned to his comrades.

"Back off!" he snapped. "This one is mine!"

Jan leered at the knight, his bulging eyes and his ghastly tongue making for a hideous sight.

"Hello handsome" Jan sneered "I must say you disappoint me: I was hoping your fighting skills will provide a pleasurable experience"

He licked his lips with the anticipation of the butchering.

"What shame that you're sword arm is occupied at the moment!" he grinned. "Still, at least tearing you limb for limb shall be satisfying enough!"

The knight however didn't seem too bothered. Instead, without any warning whatsoever, the knight reached forward with his one free hand and grabbed Jan's tongue. Then, with one tremendous jerk, he yanked it towards him.

The Chaos Warrior shrieked with alarm as his entire body was pulled forward by his tongue. But there was no time to feel such pain – For this move was soon followed up by a vicious right hook to the nose. In a crunch of bone and a splash of blood, Jan was sent flying backwards. As the pain cruised through his body, his muscles within his tentacles immediately went limp and released the grip on the knight.

The Chaos Warrior staggered on his two feet but managed to stay upright. In alarm, he reached for his face and felt, of all horrors, the trickle of blood.

"My face!" shrieked Jan. "You've ruined my wonderful face!"

He then glared at the knight with a face of twisted hatred.

"You'll pay for this!" the Chaos Warrior roared. Jan then charged with his halberd raised high.

But the knight was already ahead of him. In one swift movement, he charged – but this charge was at a pace which the Chaos Warrior could not keep up with.

Jan snarled in anticipation for the battle to come. It would be an absolute pleasure to kill this little smart-arse in the name of Slaanesh!

And if he's charging then he must be in a hurry to die – the least Jan could do was show him the way.

With a roar, he drove his halberd down….

The next thing he knew, Jan could feel something strange. It was something long, hard and thin. It soon inspired the sense of cold metal.

And it was being rammed into his chest. It had penetrated its way past his armour and his flesh and was piercing its way into his organs……

He moved so quick…..

How did he do that….?

Callously, the knight lowered his sword to allow Jan's corpse to slide off his blade. He then looked up to see the remaining warriors watching with faces aghast.

"Do you honestly believe you can beat me?" Aleksis roared from beneath his helmet. And without a moment's further hesitation, he charged towards the knight.

Seconds later, the ruined village echoed with the clang of Aleksis' halberd striking the knights broadsword. The knight stood definitely in the mud, both of his hands raised high: The sword hand clutching the hilt of the sword and the other supporting the blade itself.

Aleksis continued to apply so much weight into driving his halberd down upon the knight but the Bretonnian refused to surrender.

The knight then smiled in a sinister manner. .

Then without warning he moved.

But it wasn't in the way that the Chaos Warrior expected: In a blink of an eye, the knight lowered his bald and, in a soft spinning movement, dodged out of the way. Now without anything supporting his weight, the Chaos Warrior tumbled and fell face first into the mud.

But before he reached the mud, there was one final indignity:

The knight had somehow twirled around his blade behind his back and drove upward into Aleksis' path of descent. With only direction to go, the Chaos Warrior then fell on the blade. The well-used broadsword then ground its way into Aleksis, immediately cutting his career as a Champion of Chaos short.

Dundesh blinked, stunned by the quality of the knight's battle prowess. It would seem that the Chaos Champion made a drastic error in underestimating his skill.

But considering that four of his men were down, such an error is looking to be the element that costs him this battle. If he doesn't act quickly, he could lose.

And dying without fulfilling the destiny promised by Slaanesh didn't sound like an attractive idea.

"Raoul?" Dundesh snarled. "Take him down"

"As you command my lord" the warrior replied.

As Raoul charged towards Artios, the Chaos Champion took a step back out of the fight, disgust written all over his face.

Dundesh then paused – In reality, he shouldn't standing around this fight, he should be fighting alongside his minions instead. In fact, he should already be ahead of his underlings in charging into combat. It wasn't the way of Slaanesh to stand around when there were battle to be fought.

But it was the way of any smart commander to sit back and let all the hapless underlings to all the work.

After all, it was his destiny that they were all working towards - not theirs. Sure this knight may be a tough enough opponent to challenge, and defeat, several Chaos Warriors but he surely can't expect victory from facing a group for Chaos Warriors single-handedly. Yes, he may have survived this far but he surely must be slowing down by now. And then that happens, Dundesh shall have the absolute pleasure in beheading him.

Smiling in satisfaction, Dundesh returned his attention to the battle before him.

But it didn't take long before his smile began to disintegrate.

Raoul was still fighting the knight, delivering continuos attacks that came both hard and fast. Yet compared to the fate his comrades, it was surprising that Raoul had managed to last this long.

It was also astonishing that the knight managed to fend off everything the Chaos Warrior could throw at him. And he could still do so even after downing four other warriors, each an exceptional fighter in their own right.

But somehow this knight was able to stay up on his own two feet, his face showing no signs of exhaustion whatsoever.

Dundesh felt more uneasy than ever before. Who the hell was this guy?!

Meanwhile, the knight continued his battle. Then, in one short instant, he raised his shield and swung it in a deadly arc. In delivered a crushing blow across Raoul's head. Even with his head protected by his helmet, The Chaos Warrior stumbled backwards from the blow. He ended up several feet away from the knight - before looking up with him with hateful eyes.

"I must admit that you've put up more a fight than those pitiful villagers" Raoul countered "You've given me the greatest sense of enjoyment I've had this entire day. You should feel honoured

The knight didn't reply. Instead he glared at the Chaos Warrior with the coldest of eyes.

"Still" Raoul went on "Considering how you've dealt to my comrades so effectively, the pleasure will be all mine in killing you"

The knight raised a gauntleted hand in front of the knight. Then, he waved his fingers towards himself.

"Come on"

This sparked off a ferocious bellow emitting from beneath Raoul's helmet. But the knight was not intimidated in the slightest.

But when he heard the sound of Raoul expressing his outrage, the knight's ears picked up the sound of something else – it was a pair of feet running through the mud and up behind him.

A plan began forming within the knight's mind – a plan that was sneaky, insidious and totally unfit for the chivalrous knights of Bretonnia. But considering that the plan was crazy enough to work, such obstacles were meaningless.

The knight grinned evilly at Raoul.

"What are you waiting for?"

With another roar of frustration, Raoul charged for the knight, his talons out stretched, ready to tear the knight to pieces. His axe was also raised high above the Chaos Warrior's head ready to deliver the killing blow to end all killing blows.

But when being confronted in such a way, the knight seemed hardly bothered. He merely stood still as Raoul charged were still running towards him, growing closer and closer with each passing second.

And then it happened.

With one a swift motion, the knight drew his sword up before him. He then weld it through the space before him, sensing the scream as it pierced the air.

And through Raoul's neck.

The blade served its way through the Chaos Warrior's flesh, screaming it's way through both blood and bone. It happened so quickly that Raoul had no idea what was going on.

Until he received the message from his brain that he was dead.

Freshly separated from it's body, the head flew up into the air. A deformed head toppled out from within and joined the helmet in coming crashing down onto the mud.

Now with no guidance whatsoever, the headless body continued running blind. It only covered a short distance before it went toppling forward and crashing down into the mud

Having done that, the knight then turned his attention to the last remaining Chaos Warrior – the Champion Dundesh.

The Champion's face was arranged in an expression of complete and utter rage. His hands were twitching in disbelief and his eyes blazed with hate at the knight.

But the knight still refused to show any sign of concern at all. Instead he fixed the Chaos Champion with gaze that one would get when confronted with a Minotaur Lord whose dinner had just been interrupted.

"I guess this would mean you're the only one left"

Dundesh quivered with rage but he still managed to deliver words from his mouth:

"What type of Knight are you?"

The knight's eyes hardened.

And, with broadsword in hand, he started walking towards the Chaos Champion.

Dundesh began to feel uneasy. This knight was unbelievable: He spoke little and seemed completely nonchalant to whatever taunt came his way!

And since he displayed no such emotions, Dundesh couldn't see any possible weaknesses within the knight to exploit…

From what corner of Hell did this knight crawl from?!?

Immediately he sensed words begin to tumble out from his mouth. Words that betrayed absolutely zero control at all.

"I thought the knights of Bretonnia were taught from birth to fight in a manner that abided to the concepts of justice, honour and chivalry!!!"

The knight kept walking, the Chaos Champion fixed entirely within his glare.

Dundesh blinked, his facial expression one of complete shock.

"You don't seem to abide to those beliefs at all!!" he shrieked.

"I merely fight the evils of this world in all their many forms" the knight growled "And that includes you"

Growling with outrage, Dundesh drew his sword.

"Really? Well then, I may as well spill some of your blood and bathe in its warmth"

And with that the champion charged - his blade raised high, ready to relish in the combat to come.

Seeing the Chaos Champion move, the knight ceased walking.

Gripping his well-used broadsword in one hand and his shield in the other, the knight stood his ground, well and truly prepared to receive the charge.

Dundesh thundered his way towards the knight and brought his blade down – to which the knight countered with his broadsword. The champion then unleashed a series of blows from all directions – left, right, centre, cut, thrust. It all came at an amazing speed and with such a force that any normal person would've been cut down within a matter of seconds.

But not this time: Much to Dundesh's surprise, the knight was able to parry each and every move that the champion was able to deliver. Every time Dundesh brought his cursed blade own onto the knight, the accursed Bretonnian somehow managed to counter it.

Suddenly, as his own blade was continually countered, Dundesh could feel a slight hindrance within his over-confident manner. It would seem he has made a mistake in underestimating this knight. Not only has he achieved the near-impossible task of downing all of his underlings (whom were all excellent fighters in their own right), but he has also managed to last this long against him - Quite an achievement considering that Dundesh had downed hundreds of hapless souls previously.

But then again, there was the possibility that Dundesh's fighting skills were somewhat rusty – after all, had no excuse as he had only been picking off hapless groups of peasants these past few weeks.

Still, this knight has proven to be an exceptional opponent and would most certainly provide the best sport ever experienced over the past few weeks. And it would indeed be a pleasure to kill him and dedicate his soul to Slaanesh.

Eventually, the two blades clashed with an enormous scream of metal – and soon found themselves both interlocked.

As the two combatants struggled to overcome the force that delivered the strength in the opposing blade, Dundesh grinned evilly at the knight.

"You fight well" he said "I must admit that you're much more entertaining than those measly peasants I slaughtered"

But if the Chaos Champion was expecting a reaction of explosive anger, he didn't get one. Instead, the knight shrugged.

Dundesh blinked before delivering his blade in wide arc. The knight seemed to have anticipated such a move for he immediately jumped out of the way.

The Chaos Champion then sneered at his opponent.

"Why are you even bothering?" he demanded "This village is just one of many here in this realm. These peasants were simply living a pitiful existence. I don't really see any reason in you being here"

"Really?" the knight replied calmly.

"I honestly don't see the point in you wanting to avenge them"

"Well, maybe I'm doing that as well"

Dundesh blinked, taken aback by this statement.

"What's the matter?" he went on, his voice now adopting a mocking tone "Are you annoyed that I've killed the labourers who were working towards your dinner? Or are you infuriated that I destroyed much of the manpower that makes your life as a fat pig of a knight so much easier?!"

"Hardly" the knight growled.

And with one word, so many pieces within Dundesh's mind fell into place.

The Chaos Champion's eyes widened – he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"Wait – you mean to tell me you're only here just to kill me?!"

"Exactly"

"Then you are fool!"

And to prove his point, the Champion thundered his way towards the knight, blade at the ready to spill the blood of this rather infuriating Bretonnian.

The knight however moved his way towards his discarded shield. He then placed his foot on one end as Dundesh continued his charge.

Then, with one swift upwards jerk of the foot, the knight's shield went flying up into the air and into his waiting hand.

"Do you honestly think that shield will save you?" Dundesh roared as he charge drew closer and closer "Come out from behind that shield and fight like a real man!"

"Very well then" the knight replied.

And with one swift motion, he threw his shield into the air.

Dundesh was already several paces away from the knight and, travelling at such a speed and with little room to accommodate a change in his plan, he couldn't escape the projectile.

The shield slammed it's way into his face, grinding it's way past his flesh and into bone. The sound of a hideous crack confirmed the breaking of Dundesh's nose.

Such was the blow from the shield that he then tumbled over backwards.

But it didn't end there – seconds later, the Champion felt the sensation of cold steel slicing it's way through his left wrist – his sword-arm. And then came a similar sensation for a second time as he felt his other hand being unwillingly separated from the rest of him.

Dundesh came crashing down into the mud, the pain from his now stumped arms stinging incredibly.

He then chuckled. What wonderful pain…….

Then he saw the knight standing over him, a callous expression written across his face.

The knight then used his hand, whilst still holding his broadsword in the other, to pull out another cigar from his belt and place it in his mouth. He then lit it up with his free hand.

He then withdrew the cigar and blew a smoke ring.

Dundesh continued chuckling to himself

The knight responded to this by driving his sword into the Champion.

But Dundesh didn't die immediately: the sword itself was delivered at a point where it somehow missed his vital organs. Yet, the deliverance was enough to trigger a flow of excessive blood – enough to run the Chaos Champion dry within a short space of time.

In the meantime however, Dundesh coughed up blood. He could then feel the magnificent pain rendering his body cold and his vision dim.

It was that moment – the one that one feels as their life is slowly ebbing away.

But, as long as there is still a breath left in his body (however minimal) he's not going to take defeat easily

"I said it once and I'll say it again: You, sir knight, are a fool

"You think that we six are the only ones in your beloved realm of the Lady?"

Dundesh made sure the last few words dripped with utter contempt – waiting to see how the knight would react.

And react he did – he twisted his sword around, to increase the flow of blood – and to bring the Chaos Champion closer to joining his companions in death.

"I was leading a force of Chaos Warriors along the coast of Bretonnia. What you faced here was a mere handful of that force. The rest are camped to the beach at the north.

"I thought I might tell you this because once they learn of my death they will come looking for you"

As Dundesh's vision grew black and his last ounce of strength faded, he did hear one final utterance from the knight.

"I'm counting on it"


	3. III

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Three

It all began somewhere within a realm that defied the laws of nature and sanity. A place where nightmares became flesh and the laws of nature had no place whatsoever. A kingdom of eternal battle, where various tribes of battle-hungry men fought legions of monstrous creatures and deformed beasts. It was an area where the clang of cold steel was met with the cleaving of flesh and bone. The air was split both with the screams of the dying and the triumphant roars of the victors, declaring the souls they slew in the name of their depraved masters.

This place was widely referred to as the Chaos Wastes.

But others simply called it Home.

This particular location in the Chaos Waste was really no different from the rest: An enormous battle was being fought, as a tide of beasts rumbled their way towards a defiant, unflinching column of men. The beasts were all varied in appearance, consisting of Trolls, Dragon Ogres and the various breeds of Beastmen. The men however were bedecked in heavy plate armour proudly displaying colours of blue and gold and carrying evil looking weapons.

The tide of beasts rumbled closer and closer but the men refused to give way. Thunder rumbled in the skies above, lightening flashed and the chanting of many sorcerers preparing their spells filled the air. A huge battle was set to be fought…….

But whilst there were spectators present at the battlefield, they weren't really paying that much attention.

The column of Chaos Warriors was situated at the foot of an enormous mountain, one made from the most hideous, blackest rock. At the top of the mountain was a plateau that was dead flat – circular and smooth from one end to the other. It looked like the mountain had been sliced in half by a giant blade.

And on top of this plateau, stood a trio of figures.

They stood in a circle, facing each other towards the centre of the circle and their backs to the mayhem that was happening around them.

All of them wore robes of blue and white and all bore a talisman bearing a star being contained within a circle settled within a wavy stripe - This being the distinctive sign of the sorcerers of Tzeentch.

The first sorcerer was the most deformed in appearance. His hands contained no proper fingers but had long talons instead - and both of his shoulders boasted huge spikes that burst up from his flesh.

Sure, his head resembled that of a regular human being but the face it contained certainly wasn't: his mouth had twisted into long, permanent smile and his eyes blazed with knowledge both limitless and demented. His robes were complimented with golden lining and golden armour (in the form of a breastplate and matching shoulder-guards) – both of which were covered with bizarre, arcane sigils. In one hand, the sorcerer clutched a long staff, made from a black, twisted metal and which housed a massive red jewel at the top. The staff itself was, again, covered with golden sigils.

The sorcerer's name was Navaak, and he observed the battle waging below him with a curious eye.

He had already foreseen the outcome but he watched regardless.

He always found some pleasure in watching his future visions become fact.

And the more twisted these visions were, the more amusement he found in them becoming true.

The second sorcerer was the tallest of the three. He stood a head taller then his companions and had the more imposing presence. Like Navaak, he wore robes of blue and white accompanied with a golden breastplate. Unlike Navaak, however, this sorcerer kept his facial features concealed behind a hideous helmet, sporting massive horns and a pair of ugly spikes jutted on each side of the helmet's 'cheeks'. This sorcerer had a frame that looked much stronger than Navaak and he carried a shield that bore a hideous unblinking eye. In the sorcerer's other hand was an enormous halberd, one that was stained with fresh blood – and yet already bore the stench of decades of blood and carnage.

His name was Garathor, leader of a Tzeentch warband known as the Death Dealers.

The third and final sorcerer had the most human face out of three. It was not altered in anyway by the madness of knowledge most twisted, nor was it concealed under a helmet. This disciple had a normal human face and certainly had nothing to hide.

But unlike the others, this disciple of Tzeentch was a female.

The sorceress possessed a degree of beauty that was both natural and unnatural: Her eyes were the colour of platinum but they sparkled with a power that was beyond the comprehension of mortal understanding. She had blonde hair that drifted past her shoulders and a skin that was both soft and delicate.

She was dressed in the white robes of her companions that covered her arms and her legs. The sorceress also has a well-armoured breastplate of silver, a blue shield with golden lining and an ancient-looking broadsword.

Her name was Katarina and she fixed her two companions with a quizzical gaze. Her gaze hardened as a small smile made its way across her lips. Her mind could sense that something sinister was going to happen.

And, in accordance to the ways of Chaos, sinister is always welcome.

Finally, Garathor cleared his throat.

"My allies, it is time"

His voice as a deep and powerful – like that of a lion roaring.

And just as intimidating.

The other two nodded their consent.

Simultaneously, the three sat down and crossed their legs. Then, in perfect synchronised movements, the sorcerers thrust their arms out before them and flipped the palms of their hands upward to the blackened sky.

Then they began chanting.

Uttering twisted words from the most forbidden of arcane practices, the sorcerers closed their eyes and blocked out all thoughts of the outside. The battle being waged far below them was immediately forgotten and the unstable nature of their environment was blanked from the mind.

As they chanted, small sparks of raw power began twitching on the rock beneath them. Such sparks were small and they crackled into nothing with small pops. But within moments, the sparks grew in number. Their cracking grew in size and frequency. Soon, the whole plateau was alive with the crackling of raw magic power, cruising from beneath sorcerers.

The three continued chanting.

Slowly, small bolts of blue light began emerging from the surface. They rose and fell down in a matter of brief moments. But with each emergence, the bolts grew in size and density. The bolts all seemed to be moving towards the empty space of the sorcerers' circle where they gathered in a rage of untamed energy.

The three continued chanting.

Eventually, with a loud roar, the space burst open, sending the energy in a form that screamed it's way skyward. The raw energy cracked and raged in the form of a shaft that blazed towards the heavens.

The three continued chanting.

The raw magic power continued to blaze skyward for several moments. Eventually, the rush died down – The shaft slowly decreased in size, coming down from the blackened sky. And from it's point of breakthrough on the plateau, it began to change shape. Before the three sorcerers, it began to stretch out at the sides. The shaft grew wider and wider into the shape of a great disc.

The three ceased chanting.

Katarina, Garathor and Navaak all opened their eyes – the shaft had collapsed into this object. The energy still crackled and popped but now it had been gathered into the confederation – one that could be tamed and manipulated to one's will.

As the three watched, the energy contained within the disc began to swirl and move. Before too long, within the mass of blue energy, images began forming.

These images eventually grew to show a man. Handsome in face and muscular in body, this man was shown travelling from battlefield to battlefield. Then, with the cleaving of a wicked-looking sword, this man downed all the foes who dared stand before him: Human, beast, dwarf, elf, skaven: All fell before him and those who dared to challenge him never lived long enough to regret it.

The images within the raw energy displayed this man slaying thousands without a second thought and becoming an enemy to be truly feared.

Katarina blinked.

"Is this the one?" she asked, her voice nonchalant.

"He is" Garathor rumbled "I have seen visions like these involving this man and they are all the same: This man seems destined to be a mighty warrior"

"This man certainly seems to have a degree of skill about him" Navaak observed "He fights without any sign of fear or remorse"

"He also seems more than capable of defeating anything that comes before him, regardless of size or species" Katarina added "He seems invincible!"

"But we simply can't have that" Navaak replied, his voice tainted with a giggle of dementia.

"Preciously" Garathor nodded.

"What we see here before us" he went on "Is one destiny amongst many. Just because what we see before us doesn't mean there's anything stopping him from become a pitiful warrior"

"The type who get slain within the first minute of a battle" Navaak chimed in with a demented chuckle.

"It is true that a lot of things can happen to this man" Katarina agreed "But if he is truly destined to become a warrior of such peerless ability, then it is surely inevitable that our paths shall cross."

"And if that is the case" Garathor went on "There is always the strong possibly that this man may become a thorn in our side"

"So action must be taken in order to prevent the possibility of our plans being interfered with" Katarina said.

"You can't be too careful" Navaak grinned.

"But how can you be sure this man could be a threat?" Katarina inquired "This destiny we see before us is one of a thousand possibilities. Chances are, he could end up fighting many battles away from our general direction"

"Which is why we're not taking any chances" Garathor replied "It is true that nobody has any control over what destiny has in store for them, so yes: What we see before us is one of a variety of possibilities.

"But whilst we have no control over destiny's plans, we can still see a variety of opportunity. After all, we are the disciples of Tzeentch"

"We hold all the cards" Katarina said, smiling a sinister smile.

"As well as the players" Navaak added.

Garathor nodded before continuing.

"You see, this man may be a mighty warrior, it's just he doesn't know it yet…..

"So in order to further our own plans, he must eventually arrive to such a momentous realisation…"

"….Meaning it is up to us to further destiny's plan much sooner than anticipated" Navaak finished.

Katarina blinked. But it didn't take for realisation to dawn on her face and make way for a sinister smile.

"Of course, his path doesn't need to cross ours" she mused "But that doesn't stop his destined path from crossing that of our many enemies. And who would dare stand someone of such unstoppable combat prowess?"

"He just needs to know which enemies to fight" Garathor chuckled, his eyes sparkling with twisted intent "And I'll be happy to provide the necessary guidance"

"We aren't interfering with destiny's plan. We're just advancing them much sooner than expected"

And with such a revelation, the three sorcerers exchanged sinister looks, each radiating with malevolent scheming and demented humour.

And down below, the battle continued to rage…..


	4. IV

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Four

Four knights stood on top of a hill, overlooking a vast valley. Their gaze was on a small village set within the valley, believed to taken over by a group of Slaanesh.

The first knight was bedecked in armour of shining silver and betraying distinctive Bretonnian craftsmanship. He also wore a tunic, displaying a white triangle pointing upwards against a mass of blue. The man sat atop an impressive charger – one that boasted heavy barding that echoed the design of the man's tunic.

This, unlike many of the knights under his guidance, wore no helmet – his head was bare, revealing a face that was weathered but radiating with wisdom, benevolence and courage. The man's face also sported a black moustache and short but wavy back hair complimented with a two flowing locks, each residing on separate sides of his forehead. The man's face also boasted the features of an older, experienced warrior.

His name was Etoile Le Loup – and being the older, more experienced warrior of the four knights he was shouldered with being their commander.

The second knight bore heraldry consisting of the distinctly Bretonnian image of a white cross. And this knight had opted for a white one set against a blue background. Such heraldry distinguished this knight above his peers as a Knight Errant. The knight was mounted upon a proud horse and showed nothing but confidence in his stature.

Like Etoile, The Knight Errant wore no helm. His head was bald, and his face was large and strong. His facial features were also notable in that they sported a large scar on his left cheek – one that was shaped in a rather unusual, crooked fashion: It was jaggered and was split into two paths. The knight also a keen grin on his face, thus betraying an all too readiness to challenge the undead forces

Also like Etoile, the Knight Errant had a face that recalled years of experience. It was the type that belonged to a warrior that had spent many years slaying many opponents and lasting through many battles and military campaigns. Yet while it the number of years of experience was nowhere near Etiole's it was however the sign of an experienced Knight Errant who surely must be inches from receiving his spurs.

The Knight Errant's name was Roger and he had come to this village determined to achieve his spurs. Indeed, such was his confidence in his abilities that he was already making future plans: Roger was planing to, the minute he gets his spurs, to set out on the Grail Quest so he can prove his valour to the Lady so she may eventually bring him to the Grail.

The third knight that accompanied Etoile also bore the heraldry of a Knight Errant. However, unlike Roger, this knight had adopted a more elaborate design: His armour, his shield and steed barding were all decorated with red and black squares, all divided in a quarterly fashion.

The knight himself was preparing to go into battle without a helm. His face seemed smooth in that it showed no signs of any scars or any type of previous injury. The knight seemed to be somewhere in his early twenties and he sported a dark ponytail slung over behind his head. But having no helm, also meant that the knight's facial expression was revealed for all to see.

And what a grim sight it was: The knight showed no emotion whatsoever and his lips never made any movement to suggest any kind of feeling. The knight's eye were simply directed towards the horizon, and the village, and showed no acknowledgement whatsoever towards his fellow knights.

This knight answered to the name of Louis and he joined this group of knights in what could be best described as mysterious circumstances: No one knew where he had come from and, as such, it was assumed by some that he had arrived from the wilderness. Other rumours suggested that he had come from some lesser known settlement outside of Bordeleaux – but no other knight within the force could verify such claims. Louis only spoke a mere handful of words throughout his time spent with his fellow knights but he had attracted the eyes of his superiors through showing signs of a strong understanding of tactics. He seemed to be a master strategist in being able to come up with the most decisive battle plans. As such, Etiole took his words and advice very seriously. In battle however, Louis had already built up a fearsome reputation within the knights for being able to fight foe after foe after foe without breaking a sweat.

The fourth knight was easily the youngest of the four knights. His heraldry was arranged in fashion of several horizontals lines of red and white grouped in consecutive formation. Such a simple arrangement ultimately betrayed the knight's status as a Knight Errant. Further indication came in the form of the knight's facial features. They were young and they showed signs of eagerness however tempered with inexperience. The knight also sported a mass of long brown hair the flowed down past his shoulders and a laurel wreath that rested upon his brow.

The Knight Errant was called Marcel. He was young when compared to Roger and Louis but already he had shown signs of enthusiasm towards combat and had even shown a keenness to take the role of unit commander through showing an interest in tactics and issuing orders. Such was this interest that Etiole had assigned Marcel to the role of being his second commander, in order for the Knight Errant to learn more about leading knights into battle.

But no matter what lofty ambitions Marcel had, being the youngest out of the four still meant that he has however become the target of some jibs from his comrades.

However for the time being, he found himself being frustrated through the lack of action.

"That Etienne is certainly taking his time" he grumbled.

"A quick investigation of the size of the invaders in that village shouldn't take this long" Etiole agreed

"I bet he's already attacked them all himself" Roger muttered, contemptuously.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he already has" Etiole said.

Roger punching a gauntleted hand into his palm.

"I just can't believe the cheek of that Etienne!" he snapped "He always insist on fighting as many foes as possible and he's always first to volunteer for the most dangerous of missions!"

"That's what the knights of Bretonnia are meant to do" Louis noted.

"Yes, but he usually volunteering ahead of us! We are all Knight Errants, here for the same reason! I have been on several quests, usually to find an artefact or slay a monster, only to find the little bastard has already been there before me!"

At the mention of this, Etiole chuckled.

"What's the matter? Seems the lad only wants to get his spurs"

To this Roger exploded.

"So do I!" he snapped "I'm on my way to take on the Grail Quest! I need more monsters to slay! I need maidens to rescue! I need visions of the Lady to guide me onward, not to be humiliated by some upstart!

"I really couldn't care less if he's got spurs to obtain!"

"I can see two possibilities for such a cocky attitude" Louis reasoned "Either he's driven by an insatiable desire to succeed or he's completely insane."

"Either way, he needs someone to put him back in his place" Roger growled.

Etiole turned to Marcel.

"Tell me lad" he inquired "Have you been taking in everything I've taught you?"

"Yes, sir"

"Including about keeping an eye on those in your command?"

"Yes sir"

"So, maybe you'll care to tell us on what Etienne is like?"

Marcel blinked, taken aback by this statement. But then his brow furrowed.

"I've noticed that he keeps to himself a lot" he said "He doesn't talk too much with anyone and he has never mentioned anything about what he did before he joined us"

"I knew it!" Roger exclaimed "He's hiding something!"

The other two knights ignored the Knight Errant and instead listened intently to every word Marcel had to say.

"Has anyone ever tried to talk to him?" Etiole asked "Or challenged him?"

"Well we have tried to make friends with him" Marcel said "But no attempt has ever been successful.

"Still, we have seen him in combat and none of us have never once questioned his skills in battle. He has slain many enemies quite easily and has turned the direction of many battle in our favour on numerous occasions."

"So what do you do?" Etiole asked

"Well, we all leave him alone" the younger knight explained "Considering that his skills have saved us all those times on the battlefield, it's the least we could do"

"Pah!" Roger sneered "You're weak, that's what you are!"

Immediately, Marcel shot an angry glare at the Knight Errant.

"What did you say?" he said sharply.

"You don't suspect his silent, indifferent attitude? His battle prowess? Then you're as blind as a bat!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you get it" Roger sneered "The evidence's all there! He's in league with Chaos!"

Etiole frowned.

"That's a very bold accusation there" he said sharply.

But Marcel didn't seem to pay any attention to his commander. Instead, he fixed the Knight Errant with an evil glare.

"You're just being jealous" the young knight snapped, his voice dangerously soft.

"And just who are the hell are you to say something like that to me?" Roger snapped.

Marcel's face grew angry.

"Settle down you two!" Etiole boomed.

But the younger knight wasn't listening. Immediately, he swung himself down from his horse. Once his feet touched the ground, he drew his sword from its scabbard and stormed towards the Knight Errant.

Etiole sighed and brought his hand up to his face. Louis didn't seem bothered at all.

Marcel stopped some feet away from Roger's horse, his sword before him and his face radiating with determination.

But the Knight Errant didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"You wish to challenge me?" he sneered "Don't even think about it"

"Coward!" Marcel spluttered.

To this retort, Roger laughed.

"You certainly know some big words" he said "Not bad for a runt.

"But I have my eye on a bigger prize"

"Seems you won't have much longer to wait" Louis said "For he comes this way"

All eyes then turned towards the burning village. There, came a rider bearing Bretonnian colours.

Roger's eyes sparkled evilly.

"Just the type of scum I was looking for"

And before anyone could stop him, both Roger and his steed sped off at top speed.

Such was the rapid exit that Marcel was thrown off his feet. The hapless young knight landed on his back.

Etiole groaned at the hot-headed Roger

"Idiot" he muttered "I will have him reported for this"

"I wouldn't be so hasty" Louis replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I guess that all depends on whether or not he is able to defeat Etienne.

"I doubt that he would – after all, it's not like Etienne has broken any of the Rules of Honour"

Etiole thought about this but then he smiled.

Then he noticed Marcel, who was picking himself up off the ground.

"Sir Marcel?" He said "Having mud on your armour is hardly a pretty sight"

The young knight blinked but then, he ground his teeth.

That bastard Roger! He'll pay for this.

He then noticed Louis and Etiole grinning at the young knight.

Marcel seethed.

* * *

Roger charged towards the rider. He eventually met the rider at the bottom of the slope.

"You!" he shouted "Etienne!"

The rider whose name was Etienne had seen the knight coming and had reined his horse in from a canter into a trot. He fixed the Knight Errant with a look of utter indifference.

"Tell me" Roger sneered "What did you see in that village?"

The knight said nothing.

"What did you see!?"

Still no answer

"Answer me!" the Knight Errant snarled.

And by raising his voice, Roger got a reply:

"A small group of Chaos Warriors"

"Friends of yours?!"

To this, the knight whose name was Etienne raised an eyebrow.

Roger glared a hateful glare. Then, without waiting for a response, he spoke:

"I have you worked out. You aren't fooling me: You're an agent of Chaos, lurking within the knights of Bretonnia. You're here on behalf of your twisted Masters to spread corruption and dissension! You're where to kill us all!"

The knight whose name was Etienne stared blankly before urging his horse onward.

Roger blinked but then he growled with frustration. Immediately he pulled off one of his gauntlets and threw it down onto the muddied ground.

The younger knight paused before turning to face the Knight Errant.

"Yes, I'm challenging you!" Roger snapped in exasperation.

The knight whose name was Etienne did not answer. Instead he hoisted himself down off his horse before knelling down and picking up the discarded gauntlet.

Roger grinned an evil grin

"Seeing as you're already down there…"

And with that, the Knight Errant hoisted himself down of his own horse and drew his broadsword from it's scabbard.

The young knight drew his broadsword.

The two knight's stepped away form their steeds, swords at the ready and eyes never straying an inch from the opponent.

"You will rue the day you dared to set foot in Sir d'Arden's adobe!" the Knight Errant sneered.

"If you believe that, then you are fool" came the reply.

With a shout, Roger charged, his sword raised before him and well prepared to draw the blood of a smart-alec runt of a knight.

The young knight however didn't seemed worried at all. Instead, he merely stood his ground, his face showing no sign of fear or intimidation.

As he charged, Roger smiled. So he wants to stay and fight? This should prove to be far more interesting than he originally anticipated….

The Knight Errant's pace increased. At least he's not running away – instead he's offering himself up for a kill!

He thundered towards the young knight, who stood ready to take the charge.

But then, without warning, he moved: Mere inches away from the incoming blade, the knight whose name was Etienne side-stepped. Thus, Roger found himself running wide.

He blinked in astonishment – but only for a handful of seconds: For immediately after, the hilt of a broadsword came crashing down on the back of his skull!

It struck Roger so much force that he came crashing down, face first onto the ground.

The Knight Errant hit the ground with tremendous thud, accompanied by the crash of armour. He groaned.

The young knight merely walked away, without a word.

Immediately Roger looked back over his shoulder his eyes filled with hatred.

"You tricked me!" he snarled "You call yourself a knight?"

The young knight stopped walking.

"At least I don't go around picking fights with my fellow knights" he replied.

Roger ground his teeth and he got to his feet.

"You'll pay for that you insolent rampallian!"

The young knight then turned and fixed the Knight Errant with a steely gaze.

"You want to fight a man's war?" Roger snapped "Then fight like a man!"

"This is pointless" the young knight replied.

"Then I'll cut you down right where you stand!"

And with that, Roger charged, his broadsword at the ready.

The knight whose name was Etienne didn't show any sign of fear. Instead he charged right towards the Knight Errant.

With a roar, the older knight swung his broadsword in a huge arc.

But the young knight had anticipated this move. As such, he quickly ducked under the blade.

In the split second that followed Roger blinked in surprise at this move. But suddenly, the Knight Errant was hit across the face: the young knight had thrust his broadsword upwards and managed to strike a lethal hit on his opponent.

The charge from each of the two knights ended with the two separated several feet from each other.

Roger blinked. And then he felt it: A throbbing pain radiating form his face. Raising his hand up to his face, he felt a trickle of blood, emitting from a nasty cut riding along his left cheek.

The Knight Errant paled.

The young knight merely turned towards his horse.

"I don't why I spared your life" he said "Be thankful I did"

The Knight Errant said nothing. All he could do was gaze at the departing knight

A gaze of hatred mixed with revenge.

* * *

The knight whose name was Etienne rode his steed up the top of the slope to meet up with Louis, Etiole and Marcel.

"My lord" the young knight said to Etiole.

"As you were" the commander knight said "Your report?"

"The village had been taken over by a small group of Chaos Warriors of Slaanesh. They had butchered all the peasants and were plundering all the food and wine"

"Did you defeat them?"

"Yes"

"All of them?"

The knight whose name was Etienne nodded.

"One of them mentioned something about leading a much larger force. He said that they were camped to the north, along the coastline"

Etiole's brow furrowed.

"Action must be taken. Sir Leon must be informed"

And with that he turned his steed around and began heading away. Louis followed.

"Wait a minute!" Marcel exclaimed "Are we just going to leave Roger down there?!"

"Let him find his own way back to Bordeleaux" Etiole snapped "It will teach him a lesson"

And off he went, leaving Marcel with the knight whose name was Etienne

"You killed all six of those Chaos Warriors?" Marcel inquired

"That's right"

"So much for reconnaissance."

"I live only to slay evil in it's many forms" came the blunt reply.

"You certainly are a dour one" Marcel sighed "You should learn to lighten up"

"Not when evil threatens this land"

The Errant commander sighed.

"I should've known" he muttered.

"Oh and what did you do to Roger down there?" he asked.

"Just a small scar"

"Really? On a Knight Errant!?" Marcel chuckled "I have to hand to you Etienne, sure you're a grim figure but by the Lady, your skills are flawless"

And with that, the Errant Knight commander rode away.

The knight whose name was Etienne watched all three knights go.

They all seem to have incredible faith within his skills – even to the point of overlooking the fact that he just defeated a knight of more seniority, prowess and recognition than himself.

Perhaps he should be grateful.

If they knew him by his real name, as Artios, it's unlikely they will be so lenient

And if a reputation like his, such prospect grows increasingly doubtful….


	5. V

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Five

Meanwhile, in the Chaos Wastes, the battle continued to rage: the warriors were still fighting a long and hard battle against the hordes of beastmen that threatened to engulf them. Many of the Chaos Warriors had already fallen but for one warrior, ten beastmen corpses lay beside him.

The battle showed no sign of stopping, but none of the combatants from both sides seemed to care.

This was, after all, the Chaos Wastes,

It wasn't like anyone was going to be missed.

Far above the battlefield, Garathor was standing upon the flat mountain plateau, his face raised towards the heavens.

It certainly wasn't much to look at: As usual, it was a mass of rumbling, dank clouds accompanied by the occasional bolt of lightening.

But when one had been in the Chaos Wastes as long as he had, they tend to get used to such a bleak sky.

However, the warlord of Tzeentch wasn't up here to gaze at the sky.

Taking a deep breath, Garathor flung his arms out to his sides. His lips then began moving, whispering soft words. Words that came form a forgotten tongue, words of malevolent intent, words that would most likely get someone within the Empire crucified by Witch Hunters.

Within moments, blue bolts of magical bower began forming within the palms of the sorcerer's hands. With each passing second, they began to grow rapid in power and movement, to the point where they began moving beyond Garathor's palms and coursing down his arms.

Suddenly, in one swift movement, the sorcerer swept his arms, to bring his hands in front of him. The power generating from both his palms crackled and burned before eventually merging together. The combined power began to form a particular shape: That of a sphere.

With the magical power continued to crackle from his hands around the sphere, Garathor peered into the sphere. In amongst the mass of blue, images began to form.

The Tzeentch warlord began to see the shape of a man. He smiled – this was exactly what he was looking for.

But such a sight wasn't a particularly welcoming one: This man was a fearsome sight: He had a stern gaze, eyes that blazed with both power and intellect and presence that commended absolute respect. He stood tall, his head held high, his posture rigid perfect and a gaze that showed servitude to no one.

The man was dressed in robes of black and red, an ancient looking staff in one hand and a large tome in the other.

The man stood in the middle of a field of green, his eye on something in the distance. Something that took the form of a village.

Garathor's brow furrowed. He had seen this man before in visions previous to this one: This man was a necromancer on the rise: He hadn't done anything really of note - truth be told he hadn't really _started_ on his career in the undeath - but other visions had portrayed him as a powerful figure, capable of creating mayhem of the horrendous kind and great devastation.

The Tzeentch sorcerer uttered a single word and the image within the sphere changed.

The Necromancer had returned for this vision but things had changed: Now, he rode at the head of mighty undead force. This legion, numbered in their hundreds, was marching throughout Bretonnia, destroying various villages, butchering thousands of peasants and plundering numerous Grail chapels. Many knights rode to challenge them, both individually and en masse, but all were defeated. And with each enemy destroyed, the Necromancer found more undead souls to add to his seemingly unstoppable force.

All in all, this vision provided all the signs that this necromancer could prove to be a fearsome threat.

And any possible threats must be dealt with immediately, before they can realise their full potential and manifest into a problem within the grand scheme of things.

It was the way of Tzeentch after all.

Garathor grinned a twisted grin. It merely takes but a small interference that can send any plan unravelled….

Just then, the Tzeentch sorcerer heard the sound of footsteps approach.

He grinned and, with but a single word, the sphere collapsed into nothing.

Garathor didn't need to turn around to face the newcomer. He already knew who it was.

"You summoned me my lord?" Katarina inquired.

"Yes I have" the Tzeentch sorcerer answered "You see, I have a job for you to do…"


	6. VI

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Six

In the city of Bordeleaux, a mind was deep in thought.

The mind belonged to a man, tall in stature and large in muscular prowess. He sat at a desk made from fine mahogany, with an inked quill in hand and a wide range of maps and charts strewn before him. The room's walls were lined with numerous bookcases betraying it's identity as a study. The room's décor was complimented with silk curtains strewn across the window as well as numerous decorative shields and weapons set within numerous wall spaces where the bookcases didn't occupy.

The man possessed arms that were as thick as tree trunks and skin that was hardened through an incalculable amount of battles. He had a face that radiated with age, experience and wisdom. The man had a mass of long brown hair slung back in the arrangement of a pony-tail and a small pointy beard nested on his chin.

The knight's name was Leon d'Arden – Courageous Grail knight, Fearless warrior, undefeated hero of a thousand battles and paragon of virtue.

The knight smiled at such thoughts. The people of the Lady's realm certainly are inventive in coming up with interesting titles to bestow their heroes.

Leon paused from his writing and looked up towards the ceiling, memories drifting into his mind.

Personally, he found such titles somewhat embarrassing. All he's ever done was slay hundreds of Orcs and Goblins, an incalculable amount of Skaven and even bested a handful of dragons.

Of course, such feats seemed worthy of adoration by the people who made up Bretonnian but Leon merely shrugged it off in that he was only doing his job.

Besides, that was in the days of his youth….. ….

He recalled when he acquired his spurs: Back then he was full of impetuousness and a desire for adventure. Such an outlook towards life led him to give up any lands and titles he would've acquired, as his peers always did. Instead, he made an immediate pledge towards the Grail Quest.

Such a quest took him many leagues far from Bretonnia and into many adventures across the known world. It was in this time that he met several key allies: The Warrior Priest of Sigmar Balthazar Hienrich; the Elf Ranger Gladaryll and, another Bretonnian, the sorceress Michelle Theriault. All such excellent comrades and whom have kept in regular contact with Leon ever since.

And after many leagues of travelling and besting many foes, the Lady saw him fit to find the Grail. And so she guided Leon to it's location, thus allowing him to sup its waters. His quest accomplished successfully, Leon returned to Bordeleaux and to a hero's welcome. Since then, he has taken up the responsibilities of a Grail Knight: Fighting numerous campaigns alongside many fellow knights, defending Bordeleaux against many invaders of countless forms and providing his wisdom towards his fellow knights.

Currently, he was in the process of arranging a campaign. Reports had been filtering through of a necromancer of prodigious power. Answering to the name of Lord Varlak, he was using his power to amass a large gathering of the detested undead.

Such reports eventually reached the words of several Knight Errants who all turned to Leon, asking him to lead them all to challenge this necromancer. The Grail Knight agreed and provided his wisdom and guidance in any way possible.

Just then Leon's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Yes?" he asked.

"My lord" a voice said from behind the door "Etiole has returned"

Leon blinked.

"Well, send him in!" he said

Leon got to his feet and strode away from his desk. As he did so, Etiole entered the room. He strode up to Leon and knelt down. He bowed his head in reverence.

"My lord" Etiole said.

"Greetings old friend" Leon smiled "How has your investigation gone?"

Etiole raised his head to give his report.

"We managed to find the Chaos Warriors as the reports indicated. We found them in the middle of a ravaged village with them relishing in the massacring of the occupants of said village, my lord"

Leon frowned at this.

"How many of them were there?"

"Six, my lord"

"What action was taken?"

"Etienne slew them all single-handedly, my lord"

Leon raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me everything that happened" he said "Spare no details"

"We all discovered the village with little trouble" Etiole explained "But I did not command an immediate attack: I sought to grasp a fair idea of the numbers involved so I sent Sir. Etienne to investigate"

Leon nodded in consent, his facial expression one of a receptive nature.

"He rode for the village and entered it. Eventually, he emerged stating that there were six Chaos Warriors in the village and they had killed all the peasants in it"

"Was that all?" Leon inquired.

"Sir. Etienne also said he had taken care of the Chaos warriors personally" he said with a frown.

"Anything more to report?"

"Sir. Roger grew so incensed, that he sought to challenge Sir. Etienne. Roger was defeated and ended up with a scar for his trouble"

The Grail Knight paused before shrugging.

"I see" he murmured.

"He certainly is a troublesome one, that Etienne…" The Knight of the Realm said.

"And I will hear nothing off it" Leon said sharply, cutting Etiole off.

"But sir!" the Knight of the Realm protested "This can't persist! Etienne is a troublemaker! He acts beyond jurisdiction, he slays anything with hesitation and he's spreading dissension among my men!"

"And I hear nothing of it!" the Grail Knight repeated "Etiole, please!"

The Knight of the Realm but then he relented.

_You're can't keep letting Etienne get away with_ _everything_ he thought.

"Now, is that all?" Leon asked.

"Well, there is one last thing" Etiole said "Sir. Etienne said that those six Chaos Warriors were actually part of a much larger force. We have reason to believe that they may be heading this way towards Bordeleaux along the coastline."

Upon hearing this, the Grail Knight's expression then grew serious.

"Interesting" he said "And just when reports were filtering through about a Necromancer!"

Etiole blinked.

"Two threats at once!" he exclaimed "What shall we do sir?"

"We'll face them of course!" Leon grinned "That's what the Knights of Bretonnia do, isn't it?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Artios, Marcel, Roger and Louis had all gathered in a room within the citadel. They were all waiting for Etiole to come back from debriefing with Leon.

The room wasn't much to look at: It was a simple room, it's furnishings consisting of only a table and several chairs. The walls were made up of ice-blue masonry with doors in the north and south walls, a large window in the east wall and an enormous tapestry displaying Gilles le Breton slaying a dragon residing in the west wall.

"What do you think he's saying to the Grail Knight?" Marcel asked. Such was his impatience that he had taken up pacing up and down the room.

"He will explain the investigation in it's entirety" Louis replied, seated at the table. "I doubt he will leave anything out"

"What, not even that?" the Knight Errant replied, nodding towards Roger.

The Knight Errant sat by himself in a corner. His hand was running up and down his cheek, along a recently-created scar. Roger looked absolutely furious, and he glared with hatred at the man who created it.

Artios meanwhile just sat by himself on the opposite side of the room.

"That's inescapable" Louis noted.

But then Marcel grinned.

"No, I think Leon will let Etienne off" he said "After all, he's his favourite knight!"

And to this he chuckled. Louis smiled with amusement. Roger however, seethed with rage.

Artios said nothing. He seemed completely oblivious to his comrades in arms.

Just then, Etiole entered the room. Immediately all the knights stood to attention.

"Sir?" Louis said.

"At ease men" Etiole said "I've just issued my report – and Sir Leon seemed delighted with the result. He is now in the process of arranging action against the Chaos Warriors heading across the coastline."

He turned to Artios.

"I told Sir Leon about the quarrel between you and Sir. Roger"

"And?" Roger said, speaking for the first time.

"It seems you've been let off"

Artios nodded sullenly.

Marcel looked at Louis with utter bewilderment. Louis' eyes hardened.

Roger meanwhile seethed with anger.

"This is an outrage!" he growled, getting to his feet "He's being let off, just like that?!"

"He is" Etiole replied.

"He dared to strike me!" Roger snapped "He needs teaching a lesson in respect! He gave me this scar!"

"Then consider that your punishment!" Etiole snapped "Need I remind you that it was you yourself who challenged him!?!"

Roger blinked in utter astonishment. Immediately he fell silent and he sat back down.

A brief silence followed before Louis cleared his throat.

"Please continue sir" he said "What of the Chaos Warriors?"

"Ah yes" Etiole said "As I was saying, Sir. Leon has analysed all details and decreed a course of action. He has decreed a large force of Knights of the Realm to be massed and dispatched to confront the legion of Chaos Warriors.

"We however will not be joining them."

"Why not?" Marcel asked.

"Because we've been issued with new orders" Etiole explained.

Louis, Marcel and Roger exchanged looks.

"A despised Necromancer has been spotted two days ride from here" he continued "He has been defiling some of the graveyards to amass a large force of undead. Sir Leon has declared an Errantry War and is mustering all Knight Errants in Bordeleaux. Sir Leon will be leading the force personally and we are all expected to take part"

He turned to Marcel and Artios.

"Consider this an ideal opportunity to prove your worthiness"

"I won't let you down!" Marcel grinned.

Artios still said nothing.

"So, we are all in this together than?" Etiole grinned, placing his hand before him.

"Absolutely!" Marcel said, placing a gauntleted hand on top of Etiole's, his voice radiating with enthusiasm "I hope to slay a hundred of those undead fiends!"

"I'm in all the way" Louis added, putting his own hand in.

"For the Glory and the Lady!" Roger put in, contributing his own hand.

"For victory" Artois said, finishing the circle.

"All of you must prepare of the campaign ahead" Etiole said "Gather all that you need, we leave at dawn!"

And with that, the knights filed out of the room.


	7. VII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Seven

The next morning, at the first light of dawn, the army of Knight Errants left Bordeleaux, all heading to do battle with the necromancer Lord Varlak. Their destination was a small village by the name of Breux which was, as all reports indicated, where the fiend was hiding.

The knights all marched out in an extraordinary display of colour and majesty. At their head rode Leon d'Arden, proudly displaying the iconography of a Grail Knight and proclaiming his status as a champion of Bretonnia. Alongside him rode his commanders and lieutenants, each riding under their arrangement of their own unique, bright, heraldry colours. One knight proudly carried the army banner, proclaiming the image of a grail resting upon a pair of upturned hands – thus declaring the everlasting servitude to the Lady of the Lake.

Behind the commanders, marched all the Knight of the Realm in all their splendent glory. They marched with their heads held high, their banners unfurled and the pride of being part of this campaign. They were here primarily to accompany the Knight Errants as experienced allies but some of them were present just because they couldn't resist the prospect of fighting in any battle. But all of the Knights of the Realm looked forward to the campaign ahead and besting such despised foes as the undead, the unholiest of enemies. All thoughts were on victory and their eventual return, where they will be hailed as the heroic figures they are and the champions of justice (or, at worse, an honourable death in battle).

Following on from the Knights of the Realm came the main body of the army: the Knight Errant. They too bore the sense of anticipation but, compared to their older comrades, each of the eyes of the Knight Errant sparkled with high hopes. They were to partake in this glorious campaign and will come back alive and triumphant (hopefully). No doubt for some, playing a part in this campaign will result in being awarded their spurs upon their eventual return to Bordeleaux.

Accompanying the Knight Errant was the campaign baggage train: This consisted of various squires, both on foot and horseback, and wagons containing all the gear required for the campaign. Several of the Knight Errant also had the unenviable task of defending this rabble but they didn't care: Should they encounter any foes on the route to and from Bordeleaux, they will slay them without a second thought or any sign of fear – and hopefully show the older Knights of the Realm a thing or two!

At the head of the knights, Leon rode with an air of confidence. He felt confident that this army will return successful. After all, this was against a single necromancer – what threat could he present? He had an enormous number of knights at his command, each determined to prove their worth, defeat anything the necromancer could throw against them and, above all, defend this realm in the Lady's name.

Besides, Leon had fought against necromancers before. And he knew enough of them to say that they are the main source of the army's power: Kill them and the whole army will crumble into dust!

And there's certainly no one in the Old World willing enough to face an entire charge by a mass of Bretonnian Knights.

That bastard necromancer had no chance. No chance at all!

Just then a voice broke the Grail Knight of his reverie.

"Is something amusing milord?"

Hearing the distinctive voice of Etiole, Leon raised an eyebrow.

"Oh I was just pondering on this little investigation"

"You have nothing to fear milord" the other knight replied "We will drive them from our sacred land and still make good time for the journey back"

"That's good to hear" Leon smiled.

There was slight pause before Etiole cleared his throat.

"Milord, was it wise to let off Etienne like that? People will start to whisper"

"I stand by my decision" Leon said firmly "From what you told me, Roger broke one of the Rules of Honour in challenging Etienne and he got bested for his trouble

"That seems a suitable enough punishment for him"

"Yes but Etienne's reputation amongst his comrades is far from the best" Etiole said "If you keep letting him off in conflicts such as these, suspicions will rise to alarming levels"

"Etienne is my ward" Leon retorted "As such, no one will dare touch him

"And as far as I 'm concerned, Etienne does his job and he does it well. I can't ask any more than that."

Etiole blinked but he said nothing.

A brief silence followed before the Knight of the Realm spoke again:

"Milord" he said "Want a make a little wager?"

Leon raised an eyebrow as the other knight continued.

"Let's see who takes the most heads of the undead dogs"

"An intriguing challenge" Leon grinned "And what at stake?"

"A cask of wine?"

"Sounds good to me!"

The two men laughed out loud. And behind them, the other knights exchanged grins of amusement. The exchange of good humour between their leaders was certainly an inspiring sight: If they were prepared to exchange witticisms prior to combat then they must have absolute confidence in their abilities. This meant for the other knights that they had nothing to fear and inspired flourishes of encouragement within the hearts of all the knights.

And with inspired vigour, the knights continued their proud march, determined to fight for the Lady and eradicate the foul evil-doers who dared trespass on her sacred land.

Further down the column, Artios rode by himself.

Looking around, he saw his fellow Knight Errants all talking about their achievements during the campaign. They bragged about how many heads of the enemy forces they will take, how the young ladies back at Bordeleaux will be awestruck with their achievements and how they will no doubt win approval upon their return.

The Knight Errants seemed terribly excited about the prospect of combat and were already making boasts and friendly challenges

Artios had no time for such thoughts or aimless pursuits. As such, whilst his comrades in arms rode in one big group, Artios rode by himself. No paid him any attention whatsoever and he cared little for it.

All he cared about was waiting for the next mission for d'Arden to send him on. All he cared about was waiting for the next evil to slay.

After all, that's all he was trained to do.

And that's what he is good for.

The truth is he lived for battle. Wielding his sword in battle and feeling of driving those six feet of steel into his enemies made him feel so alive. Perhaps more alive when compared to the various trappings of civilisation: wine, women and living off the fat of the land.

At this thought, Artios' face grew with disgust. He hated that line of thought. He only lived for eradicating evil no matter where it lived or where.

And such was his devotion to this philosophy that he thought his fellow knights could do a lot better than living like lords. Time spent exploiting the hard labour of peasants could certainly be better spent seeking out various forms of evil wherever they hide.

Truth be told, he had believed that whilst the knights of Bretonnian were completely different from his own beliefs and his own code of honour. Really, the knights should be focused on defending the Lady's Realm and striking down all those who dared set foot into her sacred realm.

Not impressing some floozy, making some inane bets, proving some fruitless goal and furthering one's own ego.

Such was his disgust with his comrades, that Artios stopped paying attention to them.

As a consequence, he could feel his mind drift away, and into memories….

But sometimes not all memories one recalls aren't the most pleasant….

* * *

"_Mother"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Can you tell me about my father?"_

_Another day was drawing to a close in the kingdom that was Bretonnia. As the afternoon sun continued with its set, it light up the sky with a spectacular display of reds, oranges and yellows. And in this particular region of the kingdom, there was a sense of serenity in the air: The farmers had retired from a day of working in their fields, the livestock had been driven to the sanctuary of their barns and the peasants had returned to their hovels to rest for the night._

_And as the sun journeyed downwards, down below another journey is in the process of being made._

_It was a group of squires. _

_They were all mounted on brown horses and rode in a circular formation. They all carried formidable weapons in swords and a selection of well-used longbows. And they were dressed in the same ragged clothes distinctive of the Bretonnian common class and they all had the same haircut that betrayed their status as pages for a Bretonnian knight. _

_But in spite of appearances, the most striking feature of the squires was their facial expressions: Each of the squires had a face lined with utter determination. And for good reason: They were on a mission that demanded that they complete or die trying. They were all more than prepared to give up their lives for this mission and would gladly do so if it meant ultimate success. _

_So they rode through the Bretonnian wilderness, with eyes scanning for trouble, ears alert to any potential trouble, and their fingers ready on their bowstrings, ready to deal death from any foe that dare launch an attack on them. _

_At the moment, they were traversing through a large forest – their eyes and ears ready to accept any threat that dare show it's ugly face. _

_In the centre of the squire's circular formation, was the reason of their commitment to their mission: It was two more riders. But when compared to the squires themselves, the two riders' status as Bretonnian nobility was easily betrayed. _

_The first was a woman: She possessed a beauty that was reputable of a Bretonnian damsel: She had the slenderest of bodies, skin that was both pale and delicate, blonde hair that cascaded down her back and to her waist, and the softest of blue eyes. She was dressed in burgundy robes and rode a proud, white horse. _

_The other rider was a young boy, no older than ten summers. He had black hair arranged in an unruly fashion, the handsome facial features typical of someone his age and an expression that had excitement written all over it. He was dressed in teal stockings and a purple tunic that brought him recognition as an important person. _

_But the most striking feature about the child was that, even for such a young soul, he had a bodily structure that was indeed strong. It would be easy to assume he was a warrior of some ability and skill, even for his age, but such an assumption would face conflict in the fact that the boy's hands were too soft for a swordsman and that he had the softest of blue eyes. Neither of these features certainly were not the attributes of an experienced knight._

_Nevertheless the rider travelled with the women and her squire bodyguard. He wasn't sure where they were going nor why they were heading there but he didn't seem too bothered – As far as he was concerned, this was a journey that, so far, went far from the castle he had lived in for his life. This was his first real glimpse of the kingdom that he had always been told about – the kingdom called Bretonnia._

_The woman had been noticing the boy's enthusiasm and was quite happy to allow him to see everything for himself. Consequentially, not a word was spoken between them._

_Until now that is._

_The woman blinked._

"_Your father?" the woman echoed. This sudden verbiage had caught her off guard – and it wasn't just the unexpected question._

"_What was he like?" the child inquired his eyes shining._

_The woman blinked, unsure how to handle this question._

_As she struggled to come up with an answer, she then looked around - to see some of her squire bodyguards chuckling, amused at the child's curiosity._

_The woman responded this not with words but with the iciest of glares. This was enough to keep the squires silent._

_The cheek of these commoners….._

_Nevertheless, she turned to face the child – his keenness for an answer written all over his face. _

"_Your father was Mathieu Trintigant" she answered "He was the bravest knight in all of Bretonnia."_

"_Really?" the child said, undoubtedly impressed._

"_Yes he was' the woman smiled, hoping that the child found satisfactory enough to cease pursuing the matter. _

_But she was wrong:_

"_What did my father do?" the child inquired. _

_The woman's brow furrowed at the child's persistence. Nevertheless, she cleared her throat._

"_Your father didn't always start out as a knight – he was once a humble peasant in his village. But then he found that a horde of those nasty Skaven were gathering in a cave nearby"_

_The woman paused - she noticed the child shivering from the mention of those nasty rat-men. But he had nothing to fear – they were, after all only a myth. _

"_So" she continued "Once your father found out about those Skaven, he swore to put an end to their plans: he found some armour, picked up a mighty sword, stormed into the lair and killed them all!"_

_The child smiled at this, his mind filled with images of a mighty, all-conquering, indestructible hero. _

_The woman sighed – Yes, take the image you want, she thought. And it's just as well because the truth is not as glorious as you'd believe.…._

_Mathieu wasn't really a glorious hero. And neither was she a Bretonnian lady of high distinction. Just because she wears fine robes and bears the appearance of utter beauty does not mean she is a genuine damsel. Why, the squires that accompany her on this journey aren't her servants but the product of her begging for protection to a local knight. _

_Furthermore, she is leaving the village they were raised in for a reason – simply because the woman and the child were on the run. _

_After all, should anyone catch up with them, they will be made into an even greater item of mockery…._

_Nevertheless, she should be grateful the child has this perfect image implanted in his mind. Because it does conceal him form the truth. _

_And it was that thought that urged the woman to go on with her story:_

"_When the local baron found about this feat of heroism, he immediately offered him a place in his regiment. There, your father joined an elite group of knights who fought in many battles and always emerged victorious!"_

"_Wow!" the child said his voice full of awe._

"_But this wasn't enough for your father" the woman continued. "He was eager to find success and victory – so much so, he only stayed with the knights for a short amount of time."_

"_Why's that?"_

"_Because he then decided to go on the Grail Quest!"_

"_Grail Quest? What's that?"_

_The woman opened her mouth to speak – but before she could she speak, she was interrupted. _

_By a scream of an arrow as pierced its way through the air._

_An arrow that struck the woman and buried its way into her shoulder._

_And what happened next happened quickly. _

_The woman screamed in both alarm and pain. The child blinked in utter bewilderment. The squires blinked their expressions stunned and their hands reeling in their horses by the reins. _

_Suddenly one of the squires shouted;_

"_Ambush!" _

_And then they all saw it: A group of wolves bursting out from the trees. Dirty, mangy wolves with teeth sharp, saliva dripping from their mouth and fur matted and dark. And on their backs rode a group of short humanoids armed with the most crudely-made weapons and the most poorly-manufactured armour. Their skin was green and their eyes blazed with greedy fervour._

"_Goblins!" shouted another squire._

_Immediately, several of the squires raised their bows and launched arrows from them in order to deal with this threat. A rain of arrows burst across the sky to rain down upon the advancing Wolf Riders. Several of the goblins were downed but this attack wasn't enough to stop the rest from advancing. Some of the goblins returned the attack by raising their own shorts bows and returning fire. The goblin arrows plunged through the air to provide enough strength to launch three of the squires off their horses and to their deaths. _

_The remaining squires launched arrow after arrow at the approaching Wolf Riders – but with each arrow launched, their facial expression grew in apprehension and desperation. As the advance grew closer and closer, it became clear to each of the squires that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Each of the squires shot brief glances at each other, each suspecting that their hour of doom was nigh. _

_One of the squires rushed to the side of the woman. Her fine robe was stained red with the blood from her shoulder wound. However, in spite of the pain, she managed to retain her seat within the horse's saddle. Currently, she leant forward, no doubt still reeling from the pain caused by the arrow _

_The child, meanwhile, started at the preceding in utter bewilderment. He simply started with the blankest of eyes, shock written all over his face. He didn't seem aware of Wolf Riders, nor the fact that they were under attack. Instead, he just started, still in the horse's saddle but without moving a muscle. It was anyone's guess how he, in this state, managed not to be picked out by the Goblin arrows. _

_The squire reached the woman's side. He reached out, grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her up and to an upright position._

"_Milady!" he exclaimed. "We're under attack!"_

_The woman blinked in reply, her eyes blinking in confusion._

_The squire's eyes hardened – so he then speaking slowly and clearly, making sure that every word he said was understood clearly. _

"_Milady, it's not safe for you here" he said "We're under attack and it's doubtful whether or not we may survive."_

"_But….." the woman managed to burble. _

"_Listen to me!" the squire insisted. "You must get to safety and have that wound treated! Don't worry about us - you must get out of here and to Bordeleaux!" _

"_But – but…" the woman stammered. "The boy…..!"_

"_Understood" the squire said. _

_By now the Wolf Riders had slammed right into the squires. The squires immediately drew their swords to deal with this threat. The air was split with sounds of swords clashing against each other, the sound of wounds being torn into flesh and the screams of the dying._

_One of the squires fell with a gurgling scream. Another followed soon after, _

_But even now the outcome was clear: the squires were outnumbered and it was only matter of time before each of them toppled from their saddles and fell into the mud below_

_In amidst of all the mayhem, the squire grasped the boy by the shoulders._

"_Listen to me" the squire said "We must get you out of here!"_

_The boy was till in a state of shock – he couldn't respond for the shock radiating from his widened eyes. _

_In desperation, the squire shook the boy, trying to get a response out of him. _

"_Do you understand?! You're in danger - if you stay here, you'll surely get killed!"_

_These words did nothing to break the boy out of his shock but a small mewling sound came creeping out from his lips._

_Taking this a yes, the squire lifted the boy out form his saddle and placed him within the safe company of the woman. Despite her wound the woman found enough strength to shift backwards and allow the boy to sit before her. _

"_Are you all right?' she whispered._

_As the boy was still in a state of shock, no reply was issued._

_She wrapped her protective cloak around him and an arm around his waist. The other hand took up the horse's reins._

"_Get out of here!" the squire yelled, placing a kick into the horse rear end. With a whine of shock, the horse bolted._

_Plunging through the sounds of combat and to safety, the woman kept her head down, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the Wolf Riders. She kept head down to avoid any stray arrow or sword stroke. And she kept her head down to, most importantly of all, to prevent anything to happen to the boy._

_The horses continued charging from the beleaguered squires and through the forest. _

_Fortunately for the woman, the goblins were too busy battling the squires to notice the fleeing rider…._


	8. VIII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Eight

Meanwhile, two days ride away from Bordeleaux, the insidious Lord Varlak was gathering his forces, in readiness for the battle that was rapidly approaching.

And being a necromancer, such gathering involved awakening the dead and raising them to walk the earth a second time.

The necromancer chanted forbidden words. And with each syllable uttered, more skeletons burst out from underneath the ground and moved to join the many undead souls that made up the necromancer's legion.

But even as he was the heart and soul of the army, on this particular occasion of raising the dead, Varlak had the rare privilege of having an audience of flesh and blood.

A mysterious blonde woman was standing several feet away from the necromancer, watching his work with great interest.

Varlak had no idea who this woman was: She showed up mere days ago, saying she was interested in his plans and offered her services as an advisor. At first he was suspicious: After all, it wasn't everyday that such an opportunity turned up from out of nowhere.

Let alone one that seemed to promise so much.

Nevertheless, the woman seemed remarkably insistent that her intentions were true and she was eager to help in anyway possible.

This prompted Varlak to accept her offer but only a trial basis: He would heed her advice only for a number of battles. If successful, he will allow her to accompany him on his campaign through Bretonnia.

And, much to his surprise, the woman guided him to a number of conflicts. Some of them with groups of wandering knights, others attacks on settlements defended by determined peasants. Yet each encounter always resulted in a total victory.

Needless to say, Varlak had no hesitation in allowing her to join him.

Since then, this alliance had proven quite fruitful: With her help, Varlak had managed to achieve a great victory over a small tower, consisting of a single knight and a large number of men-at-arms. It was a pitiful excuse for a decent opponent but the thought of achieving a victory in a siege. And a victory worth achieving – indeed, far better than the mere skirmishes he had fought previously. Already, this triumph had inspired thoughts within the necromancer's mind.

Some of these thoughts involved conquest and crushing more knights of Bretonnia. But the rest involved supping the taste from the cup of victory a second time.

He was confident: So far, this mysterious woman had the words to back up her claims – so he won't be letting her disappear on him in a hurry.

Just then, the blonde woman cleared her throat.

"I see you have some skill in your abilities as a Necromancer"

Varlak grinned.

"Absolutely!" he replied "I believe I have enough power to raise an army large enough to crush a force of a hundred knights!"

"You certainly are ambitious

"So tell me" the woman went on "How did you ever come by such forbidden texts? I doubt you would've lasted this long in this realm with such condemned material"

"I found this text by braving the cursed pits known as Nagishizzar!"

"Really?" the woman replied, raising an eyebrow "I thought that place was one of most impenetrable fortresses in the Old World. And it's also populated entirely by undead who have been known to kill any human visitors on sight"

Varlak's eyes widened, completely taken aback.

"Well…I…" he stammered "I was heading for Nagishizzar…

"But along the way" he went on, his speech gradually growing more confident "I encountered a vampire count! I told him I wanted to learn the art of necromancy so he took me on as an apprentice! I learned so much until the day he was discovered by some Bretonnian knights and was put to death….

"But I gathered up his texts and came here for vengeance!"

"A vampire taking you on as an apprentice?!" the woman scoffed "I can imagine"

"But it's true!" Varlak insisted "Look, I have his book of necromancy here!"

And he produced a leather bound tome from his robes.

The woman studied at it with a quizzical eye.

"This doesn't look like anything I have seen from Sylvania" she murmured.

"What the hell do you know?" Varlak spluttered.

"More than you can ever begin to imagine" came the reply.

Varlak blinked.

The woman smiled a sinister smile.

"You're a battlefield looter" she said "You found this lying on the corpse of some dead necromancer and you decided to take it with you.

"Only when you realised what it was that your ambitions took over."

The necromancer's eyes widened and his mouth sagged in disbelief. She had seen right through him. Just who the hell was the woman?!

Nevertheless, he regained some of his composure and he glared at the woman.

"That being said" she went on "I'm surprised you have mastered the art of necromancy so quickly. I'd suspect you would've already been torn apart by your own raised legions"

"Really?" Varlak sneered "Then take a look at this!"

And with a dramatic flourish, he raised his hands towards the sky, and began chanting more words he had memorised from the forbidden text.

Suddenly, a soft whispering began drifting in through the air. A whisper that soon grew into a shriek. A shriek that seemed to resonating from up above, from along forgotten place…

Then the woman saw it.

Something came hurtling down from the sky. A dark shape that travelled with such speed and force that it blew apart any clouds it went through.

As the dark shape neared the ground, it halted its descent: It then reared up before the two onlookers, betraying a mass of bone, claw and rotting flesh. The shape struck the ground with such force it sent a tremor, resonating through the earth for at least a mile.

The woman raised an eyebrow. A Zombie Dragon.

Varlak strode towards the beast and stroked it's rotten chin. The dead wyrm didn't flinch a muscle.

Not that it could anyway.

Knowing all too well the size and power of such monstrosities, the woman knew that summoning one of them was a feat only accomplished by the most skilled (or perhaps the most demented) of Necromancers.

And this imbecile somehow managed to do it.

And without it making look like a complete fluke.

"Perhaps I misjudged you" she said "It seems you have a great understanding in your knowledge of the dark arts"

"Oh do I ever" Varlak chuckled.

He then turned to face the woman, a demented grin written across his face.

"Just wait until I unleash this monstrosity across these Bretonnian fools! They will all run in terror! They will be cast completely aside in one fell swoop! They will have no choice but to bow down and acknowledge me as master!"

Katarina sighed. She should've known. Just another idiot of a human, too swept up by delusions of grandeur.

This guy was just too predictable.

Just what Garathor saw in him was completely beyond her comprehension….


	9. IX

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Nine

The first few rays of sunshine came creeping along the horizon, casting light where once darkness was and banishing all shadows. Numerous owls and nocturnal rodents retreated to their respective homes, and various livestock were stirring.

It was dawn.

The town of Breux was large in size, covering two square kilometres. It was made up with of simple buildings made from stone walls and roofs of thatched straw. It was significantly larger than many of the other settlements within the kingdom of Bretonnia in that it boosted a significant number of housing as well as a wide variety of small businesses that included a blacksmith, stable, a selection of stores and the obligatory Grail Chapel.

And from the outset, the town would've looked like any other Bretonnian settlement.

Had it not been for the hundred or so coloured tents that surrounded it.

Breux was simple in appearance but on this evening it was home to a mass of colour and noise. This evening a regiment of knights had come to defend the town, and the people within it, in the name of honour and defending the sacred realm of the Lady.

Rumours had been filtering through that an insidious Necromancer, by the name of Lord Varlak had taken up residency in this region of Bretonnia. Personal accounts from witnesses revealed that he had managed to take over an old tower to use their base of operations. The tower itself had been occupied by a garrison of soldiers for some time but it was likely that the Varlak had taken it over by force, using whatever dark and twisted spells he could think up from his twisted mind.

Once he set up a base of operations, Varlak immediately began cultivating the souls of Bretonnian peasants to add to his army of undead. He didn't attack immediately - instead he bided his time gathering his forces – even to the point of sending minions into Breux, in the middle of the night, to abduct its residents from their beds.

Of course it wasn't intentional that Varlak struck Breux, it just happened to be the closest settlement in the vicinity.

The knight of the region, understood all too well the growing power of the necromancer and his forces and decided to appealed for help. A messenger was sent to the city of Bordeleaux and within days, a large number of knights had assembled and set off for Breux.

When the knights arrived, the people of Breux were overjoyed to see their saviour knights arrive, ready to As such, all around the town were a range of flags, each displaying its own unique pattern with an array of bright colours. Most of them hung from the lances, which stood arranged on either side of the Breux's main road. Some of them even hung from the windows of the building themselves – no doubt by peasants who were in awe of the heroic visiting knights.

The knights were taking up residency within their own tents, set up within the general vicinity of Breux. The chief officers had the pleasure of residing in the village keep whilst the lower ranking officers had the privilege of the rooms within the village tavern. As such the camp was populated by the least important knights in the regiment (or at least those who were too arrogant to even consider using one of the peasant's houses).

The tents themselves were a variety of shapes and sizes. Some even had flags waving from the centre-pole, displaying a proud pennant proclaiming the knight's heraldry. Some even had shields displayed proudly, declaring the achievements of the knight for the whole world to see. But all had the unmistakable bight colours arranged in striking formations that made the Knights of Bretonnia so distinctive.

But with the day already beginning, the camp was already bustling with activity and noise. A mixture of sounds filled the air: The clash of swords as young Knights Errant duelled each other for combat practice. The pounding of a blacksmith's hammer upon both armour and swords as it sought to rid the damages wrought upon such lovingly crafted pieces of equipment. The whining of the horses as they were being scrubbed down by the squires for each carrying such enormous loads all day. There were a variety of voices in the air as well, discussing a variety of topics, ranging from battle, honour, the Lady and what a good day it was to die.

All the knights were anticipating a great battle to take place on this day.

And that was only the knight's camp. The village, however less populated at this early hour, was no better.

The majority of the peasants in Breux, had also risen from their beds and were already busying themselves with daily activities. Most of them were the farmers who had come to work on the fields and attend to their livestock. But some had come out of admiration of the knights and to watch them in all their glory.

Like the knight's encampment, there was a fair variety of noises resonating throughout the village: The sound of cattle mooing, the chatter of excited children, talk of the peasant girls on which knight was more handsome, the comments of the peasants - some out of awe for the knights and others on grumbling how much they had the nerve of striding in from out nowhere and taking the best of everything (although not front of the knights themselves of course).

All the peasants were anticipating a great battle to take place on this day.

Which is why most of them had retreated to the village tavern.

The village tavern has the busiest location the village: All the peasants had gathered there and had the entire building exclusively to themselves – they would've given the place up to the knights but they instead mentioned something about the 'demon drink'. As such they had all gathered to consume the village's grog and to speak in awe of their newly arrived heroes.

The peasants had absolute confidence that the knights will deliver them from the evil threatening their village. So much so, they decided against helping their saviours out in the field of battle and instead withdrew to the tavern to wait out the result of the upcoming conflict. And so, over numerous tankards of ale, the peasants, both young and old, spoke in a variety of voices but all in admiration of the knights

"Did you how many of them arrived here?"

"With them protecting us all, we can't lose!"

"The Lady has sent us a mighty legion in our hour of need!"

"That bastard Necromancer has no chance in hell of surviving!"

"He will regret the day he even thought of setting foot in the Lady's domain!"

* * *

Meanwhile, in amongst the Bretonnian encampment, far away from the revelry of the tavern, the knights were gathering for battle. Lances were being readied, swords were being drawn, banners were unfurled, fear and doubt were both banished for courage, horses pawed at the ground and prayers of victory were being spoken to Lady.

One hundred knights had gathered for this battle, on the promise of honour and an opportunity to fight a foe who had dared profane the holy realm of the Lady with his presence.

The knights couldn't ask for anything more.

Far above the gathering knights, upon a rock overlooking the field, Leon scanned battlefield, his mind busy with the day ahead.

He was dressed in armour that was at once both radiant and battered. At first glance, it the armour shown with the gleam of bright silver, proving itself to the naked eye as being a well maintained piece of equipment. Yet at the same time, it also bore years upon years of scratches, dents and sword marks.

The armour itself was decorated with two pieces of striking regalia: Across the breast rested a tunic proudly displaying the image of a grail, placed upon two upturned hand palms and with it's bottom being gripped by the fingers. The armour's shoulders guards shone with the gleam of gold. Both these pieces betrayed the knight's status as a commander.

It was within his capable hands that the commanding council of knights of Bordeleaux assigned to the unenviable task of leading this force of knights to liberate Breux.

Leon wandered through the Bretonnian encampment, his eyes looking for trouble, his eyes ready to detect any danger and his mind well prepared to act accordingly.

For the moment, the encampment was relatively quiet. There was little sign of movement in and around the many tents and the only sound coming from the tents was the soft sound of conversation.

Leon paused and raised his head, towards the direction of the village.

He could certainly hear the sounds of the overjoyed peasants emitting from the tavern. But none of the sounds within the encampment could even come close to replicating the elation the peasants felt.

Leon sighed – he could certainly do with such enthusiasm within his men.

Only thing's for certain: the paragon of virtue was far from his best.

The Grail Knight then turned his gaze skyward, his mind drifting back to the events that took place the previous day.

The journey to Breux had taken the proposed two days with the first going by with nothing out of the ordinary taking place. However, the second day didn't transpire without incident: A short distance from the village, the knights were immediately confronted with mass of undead. Ranks of skeletons and zombies, led by an insidious wraith had all gathered to do battle. Alas, Varlak had anticipated the arrival of the knights and took action to intercept them before they arrived. Needless to say, what took place on that day on that battlefield was a mighty battle. The knights, both Knight Errants and Knights of the Realm all charged headlong into the undead mass, their lances at the ready and their faces displaying no fear for the abominations that confronted them.

The battle lasted all day against a seemingly endless tide of undead. Eventually however, the leading wraith was confronted by a courageous Knight of the Realm and eventually slain. And with this act, the entire undead army found itself without its key driving force and consequentially fell apart. The battle had been won but not without it's casualties: even as the knights had brought down the undead in their hundreds, several of the knights themselves were cut down. These brave souls were later buried at the battlefield, in commemoration of their brave deeds.

As such, the previous night at Breux was a grim affair. There was no cheer of the victory struck earlier that day - Only the knowledge that the knights were now significantly depleted in number.

Worse still was that the attack looked to be working within the Necromancer's favour: No doubt he would use the causalities struck this day to add to his own force, thus making him stronger than before.

Thus, the surviving knights all bore an expression of grimness. Leon had noticed such a drastic change in mood throughout the course of the evening. He could see it all within the men he was given command of. All of them seemed all too aware that they were going to die. None of the knight showed any sign of being confident enough of returning alive. If there was any sense pleasure from his men it seemed from the prospect of dying an honourable death.

Leon sighed. He wasn't leading an army. He was leading a suicidal charge. And one nearly made up of young knights. Sure it was the way of the Bretonnian Knights to die a glorious death fighting a worth foe.

Especially considering that majority of knights will face an end to their knighthood just as it had barely begun.

But at the same time, it was also the way of the Bretonnian Knights to defend the helpless and protect the weak from all kinds of evil in whatever guise they come in. And in this case, the Knights were facing off against the Undead, an enemy renowned for never knowing any fear and never breaking under any circumstances.

The Grail Knight paused momentarily. It was then he could hear words being whispered – but it didn't take him long before he recognised the words as a prayer to the Lady. This particular one was always issued on the eve of a great battle. The prayer asked for courage of the upcoming conflict.

Leon sighed. Yes, in the end courage was all they had left…..

Oh well, if they were all truly to die in this battlefield then they should at least go out by killing as many of the undead fiends as possible.

And maybe the accursed necromancer as well.

At least that way they will die with honour.

It was the way of the Bretonnians after all.

Just then, he heard something come from behind…

Leon flicked his head around – only to be greeted with the sight of a young knight approach.

The lad was dressed in the tunic bearing the colours of a Knight Errant. Colours that Leon knew only too well.

"Artios!" Leon exclaimed "Good morning"

"My lord" the knight replied.

"You're still alive I see" the Grail knight noted "How has the journey to this village faired?"

"I slew many of the undead abominations"

Leon shot a sharp gaze at the young knight.

"Good work"

Artios blinked but said nothing.

Leon paused, his brow furrowing.

"I heard about what had happened on your previous expedition. Where you slew six Chaos Warriors of Slaanesh single-handedly.

"That's certainly an impressive achievement"

Artios said nothing.

"But I have also received word of you striking Roger"

"He challenged me my lord"

"And I believe you" Leon said, turning to face the Knight Errant.

"I recall the day I met you for the first time: You turned up at my citadel telling me you had committed an awful sin"

Artios blinked.

"You were so determined for redemption that when you swore an oath of servitude to me, you insisted that you be sent on the most dangerous of tasks. You wanted to slay anything in my name and you did so with efficiency and dedication.

"And in return I kept both your real name and your background a secret from the rest of the knights in my command

"So keep in mind that I have understood your request for redemption and that I have worked hard to help you, even to keep your past digressions a secret from your comrades in arms. Yet with this big a secret, it won't take much for it to become public knowledge and your name to be ruined thereafter"

"And in that case" Artios replied "I will continue to slay anything that dare oppose your name. For as long as you command me to do so"

"You keep doing so and I'll keep your past under wraps" Leon said "But keep in mind that I can only protect you so far – you will have to help the man who helps you"

"I understand entirely milord" the Knight Errant answered, bowing his head.

Leon paused, his eyes hardened at Artios.

The Grail Knight's brow furrowed, trying to sense whatever degree of sincerity the Knight Errant had in his voice and whether he understood the importance of what he was being told.

Leon then turned away. Sure this knight was a troublemaker and he had some unwelcome blood on his hands but, in the terms of fighting battles, Artios was easily the best Knight Errant he had in his company. Such was his prowess and his dedication to his assigned tasks that Leon had grow high in faith with Artios that he will return from any task both successful and alive.

He just hoped that he doesn't come to regret this decision of taking this knight in as a ward.

Eventually however, the Grail Knight nodded.

"But forget such matters for now" he said "For at the moment we have far more pressing concerns"

Leon turned to face the young knight, his eyes sparkling in an eager fashion.

"Ready to kill some more undead?"

The young knight didn't reply.

Without waiting for response, the Grail Knight continued:

"Well, you said you wanted redemption, hopefully this would be enough"

He then raised a finger directly towards the horizon.

And there, before the lines of the gathering Bretonnian army was a mass of undead. Hundreds of skeletons shambled forward bound by the most profane of magic. Zombies shuffled towards the knights driven by the most empty of wills. Numerous carrion swooped in from the sky with a blood-chilling shriek. Even several wraiths had gathered, their sightless eyes blazing with energy from the most twisted of power, their hands blazing with magic that only the undead could comprehend.

But when confronted with such a sight Artios didn't even bat an eyelid.

"So" he said "When do we ride?"

"Soon my lad soon" Leon replied.

"Can you see this blasted Necromancer in amongst that rabble?"

The young scanned the horizon, trying to find the source of the horde.

But when confronted with an undead legion of this multitude it doesn't take long to find the heart and soul.

Because, more often that not, it would be only thing still living.

And there it was: In the centre of the undead, stood a figure, summoning more zombies and skeletons by the second to add to his legion. The Necromancer was clad in robes of black and red and he clutched an ancient tome which he seemed to be drawing his powers from. The fiend wore a helmet which seemed to made of black iron and boasted a pair of red wings protruding from the sides, thus showing no face save for a pair of eyes that resonated from beneath his ugly helm.

Artios then pointed out the Necromancer to Leon.

"There" he said

The Grail Knight looked in the direction and raised an eyebrow.

"So there he is" he muttered "So we must concentrate our attack on him…"

"I don't believe it'll be that simple" Artios noted "Look what comes this way!"

Leon looked up.

And there he saw it: Descending from the heavens, riding on the beat of broken wings came several enormous monstrosities of rotting flesh and bleached bones. They were twisted creations of once noble beasts and they bore the most deformed of riders. The monsters thundered through the sky, a sight disturbing enough to send a mortal mind paralysed with fear and dread.

"Zombie Dragons" Leon said softly "Seems our Necromancer friend must be getting desperate"

"You think so?" the younger knight muttered.

"Yes but knowing our comrades, there will most likely be a rush to get to one of them and defeat it before anyone else."

The Grail Knight chuckled at such a thought but his apprentice didn't show any signs of seeing such humour.

"Such are the Knights of Bretonnia" Artios murmured under his breath.

Leon sighed.

"Well it looks like the odds are stacked against us" he said "And all we have is an outnumbered force of enthusiastic knights all too ready to surrender their lives in the name of honour"

Artios said nothing. Instead his eyes hardened.

Then the Grail Knight shrugged.

"Oh well, if there exists the possibility of being overrun by swarms of undead bastards then there also exist the possibility of dying a glorious death"

"At least that way" the younger knight added "The potential of being defeated didn't sound too bad"

Leon nodded.


	10. X

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Ten

As the knights gathered, the masses of undead swelled: Skeletons of dead soldiers from long-forgotten battles burst from the ground, zombies made up of the freshly dead Knight Errants from the day before came shambling forth and several wraiths kept such forces in check, binding them together with the blackest of arts. And in the middle of it all, the madman Lord Varlak drew all of his power from his dark tome.

He even went to the effort of looking the part in wearing the blackest of robes as well as a helm made from what looked like blackened iron and sporting a pair of red batlike wings sticking out the side.

Katarina watched the idiot Necromancer with a curious eye. It seems she had underestimated him: He certainly seemed capable of wielding tremendous necromantic power and certainly had the prowess to pull a whole army of undead together.

And somehow manage to keep it together and all under his control – an interesting achievement since the history of necromancy is littered with would-be necromancers who try to summon an army only to be torn apart by the very skeletons they've summoned. .

Tzeentch only knows, however, why he insisted on wearing such a ridiculous-looking helm. Does he really think he'll strike fear in the hearts of the Bretonnian knights by wearing such a stupid-looking thing?!

But such observations are meaningless: She has things of far greater concern to occupy her mind.

Best get moving with her plan then….

"You certainly have a formidable force summoned" she said "But are you sure it's enough?"

Varlak paused in his summoning spells. His brow furrowed, as if he was truly thinking such a notion through.

"They are merely Knight Errants down there!" she said "They are all children! Sure there may be some more experienced Knights accompanying them, but this force of Knights is hardly the greatest threat in the world! You can crush them all easily!"

The necromancer blinked. But soon, a demented grin formed its way across his face.

"I'll make sure of it!" he declared "I'll summon an undead force so large that it will have no chance of defeat!!"

Katarina smiled.

That's what she loved about the ambitious: You give them one simple notion and they end up doing all the rest….

It was just all too easy….

* * *

Meanwhile in amongst the mass of knights, all were preparing for the upcoming conflict. Lances were being hoisted high, banners proclaiming various heraldries of the knights and images of the Lady were raised in defiance, shields were being readied, last instructions were being issued and various steeds were pawing on the ground,

All of the Knight Errants stood ready for battle. But, if the facial expressions of various knights were anything to go by, their impetuousness was getting the better of them. The Knights were all too eager to attack, eager to prove their worthiness in battle and were getting tired of waiting.

The only thing that held them back was the order to attack.

Before the army, rode it's commander: Leon, who descended down from his observations of the opposition to lead his force. Artios followed on his own steed.

They rode in front of the assembled knights, inspiring a cheer as they passed by. At the sight of their leader, an invincible Grail Knight, one of the Lady's chosen, the knights grew in courage and banished all senses of fear. Then, towards the rear of the company, a chant began to muster:

"For the Lady!"

"For the Lady!"

With each word of it being uttered, the chant grew. It grew in the number of voices and the volume. Before too long, the entire company was all participating in the chant.

"For the Lady!"

"For the Lady!"

Leon smiled towards the knights and raised a fist in the air. A fist of both righteousness and courage.

Artios didn't seem to pay any attention to the company or their inspiration. He merely gazed at the raised fist with a disproving glare.

Such grandeur.

How disgusting.

* * *

Meanwhile, up to the north of the field, Varlak continued on with his demented summoning. Numerous skeletons burst forth from the ground, no doubt remnants from battles from an age long forgotten, to swell the numbers of his undead horde – which was increasing on a rapid basis,

In the midst of his summoning, Varlak could see the amount of skeletons grow, even to the point of being at least four times the size of the opposing Bretonnian force.

The Necromancer smiled

A demented smile.

Oh yes, nothing had a hope in hell of standing against a force of this magnitude! Those pitiful Knight Errants had no chance! He could see them now, all of them being brought down in their hundreds against the forces of undeath!

Varlak found such a thought amusing and he chuckled to himself.

Nearby, Katarina watched everything unfold before her, with an curious gaze.

"Well now" she said "The size of your force has well and truly outnumbered the number of Bretonnian Knights there."

"Absolutely!" Varlak replied, his voice, a combination mixture of ambition and anticipation for the combat to come.

As well as being downright mad…

The sorceress chuckled to herself. Ah yes, madness. A subject she knew all too well.

No doubt that both reading and using the forbidden text was taking an immense strain on the functioning of his mind. After all, it took a strong mind and a strong will to read and use such forbidden texts. As such, the history of necromancy was littered with imbeciles who thought they could master such a dark art only to go insane or have it turn against them. As such, only the most successful Necromancer, like Dieter Helsnicht and Heinrich Kemmler, were the type who could use the art of necromancy and still possess a will strong enough to keep it from controlling them.

Unsurprisingly, such necromancers were a rare breed.

And in the case, of Varlak, he was nowhere near such a grade.

And all it took was mere simple words of encouragement, urging to make his force big enough to outnumber the Bretonnian knights many times over.

Thus, as the number of undead grew, Varlak's grip on sanity grew even more precarious. The continued use of the text was dragging him deeper into madness.

The sorceress paused. Was her encouragement really the catalyst? If it wasn't for her would he really evolve into the strong necromancer that Garathor foresaw?

"Sorceress!" Varlak said, breaking Katarina from her thoughts "Do you believe I could achieve victory with a force this size?!"

Katarina smiled a sinister smile, at the ranks of undead before

"Oh don't you worry…."

* * *

Marcel was furious.

His blood was waiting for the rush of charging into combat, his hands were waiting to feel the grip of a sword downing another foe, and his impetuous nature was a boiling like a ravening wolf waiting to be fed.

But the only thing holding him back was the fact that the order to attack had not been given.

Meaning all he could do was watch as the ranks of undead swelled in number.

He looked over at his companions.

Roger didn't seem in anyway annoyed. Instead he seemed almost delighted: As the undead horde grew, Roger's facial expression increased with smugness. He seemed confident with the prospect of facing so many foes at once.

Likewise Louis didn't seem worried at all. But then again knowing the tactician, he rarely showed any emotion beyond his distinctive unflappable disposition.

If there was any concern for the odds ahead, Louis certainly didn't show it.

Not that he ever did anyway.

And then there was Etiole. The commander's facial expression was grim: It showed neither anticipation nor despair for the battle ahead. All it showed was a hard gaze at the opposition.

Marcel leaned over to speak to his commander

"Faced anything like this before, sir?"

"Oh yes" Etiole replied "Many times"

"Funny" Marcel said, his voice acquiring a jokey tone "If you faced such numbers before then I wouldn't expect you to be alive today!"

"That's because I fought for the Lady" Etiole replied sharply "And to survive"

The knight Errant blinked – but it didn't take long before his frustration took over.

"Why do we stay here?!" Marcel said in exasperation "The more we stay here, the more that force grows!"

"We are not going anywhere until the order to attack has been issued." Etiole replied.

"When will that be?!" Marcel said "It's absurd to think that we're simply allowing this necromancer to build up his horde!"

"In that case, I strongly suggest you don't think that!" the Knight of the Realm snapped.

This had left Marcel seething with impetuous rage. His ever insatiable determination to prove himself was growing frustrated with the delays. This, of course, applied a hindrance when he was looking forward to the up coming battle.

And giving his fellow knights something that would dare them to laugh about.

"Well then" Etiole said grimly "Looks like our Necromancer friend is taking no chances if he's mustering legion of this size"

"Can't say I'm disappointed" Roger said "It just means more for us!"

"We'll make him sorry that he dared set foot in Breux!" Marcel chimed in.

"Well said" Roger said to the younger knight "Like a real Knight Errant!"

Marcel blinked and then smiled in admiration at the senior knight (little realising just what Roger was really implying).

Louis then turned Etiole.

"I see no possible weaknesses in the undead force."

"So what do we do?" Etiole replied

"I suggest we all charge"

"In one big formation? And strike the undead with the force of a sledgehammer?"

Louis nodded.

"Well that plan's certainly not one we've tried before" Etiole grinned "But as it's succeeded many times before, I see no reason why it won't fail us now!"

The commanding knight chuckled at this thought. The strategist however made no facial movements whatsoever.

"I wager I will slay fifty of them!" Roger proclaimed.

"You're on" Marcel added.

"Oh so you'll think you'll do better than me eh?"

"Oh I won't just slay more undead than you. I'll get my spurs and be appointed a Knight of the Realm for this!"

"Ha!" Roger said "Mere words!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes really! Not only will I slay more undead than you but I'll achieve a degree of valour that the Lady will see and will then grant me a path to the Grail! You can keep your crummy Knight of the Realm position! I'm going to become a Grail Knight!"

"What did you say?!" the young knight growled.

"Silence you two!" Etiole snapped "Save whatever contempt you may have for the undead!"

"So why don't we attack?!" Marcel demanded "Each second we stay here, that army is growing in number!"

"We're not moving until Sir Leon returns!"

"And when will that be?!"

"Now it would seem" said Louis.

The three other knights turned to see Leon, and Artios approach, on horseback.

Leon rode towards the head to where Etiole and the others waited. They watched him, and Artios, approach.

"I wonder where he got to?" Etiole muttered.

Then he shrugged "Most likely he was busy thinking up a battle plan"

"I hope it's a good one" Marcel said.

"Don't you worry" Etiole said "I have faith in my commander"

"That's easy for you to say" Roger muttered.

Etiole immediately cast him an evil glare.

"No, not like that" the Knight Errant said "Sure I have faith in Sir Leon, his skill in battle strategy and his prowess in battle.

"But what I don't understand is his taste in companions"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Etiole snapped.

"I'm talking about him" Roger said, pointing towards Artios.

"What do you mean?!" Marcel demanded.

"There he rides" came the seething reply "Like the lapdog he is"

"Keep such thoughts to yourself!" Etiole snapped "I will have no infighting in my ranks! Especially when a greater foe awaits us all!"

"You're just jealous that he bested you and got off free!" Marcel teased.

Roger felt like breaking the jaw of the cheeky swine but he did no such thing.

"The Lady only knows what potential our lord Leon sees in him…" he muttered.

"Potential for greatness" Etoile replied in a stern tone.

The Knight Errant blinked at such a comeback but he continued on unhindered:

"There are some ugly rumours floating around about this character" Roger said, his speech soft but his tone as hard as iron "Rumours saying many things. They say he's really in cohorts with the forces of Chaos. Others say he's a spy from a jealous Imperial noble. Some even say he was trained to kill by the finest Dark Elf assassins"

"And you're trying to tell us that you believe them all?" Etiole countered, his eyes glaring accusingly.

Roger blinked but said nothing more.

"Mere rumours!" Marcel added "Anyone would believe any nonsense you tell them"

"What?" Roger growled dangerously.

"Quiet!" Etiole said "Our lord approaches"

Leon rode up to take position at the head of the army. As he reeled in his steed in to speak, Artios promptly fell into position.

The Knight Errant paid no attention to the seething glares from Roger. Nor did he seem to acknowledge to presence of any of his fellow knights. Instead all he saw was the undead that massed in front of him.

All of which will die at his hand.

Leon rode to the head of army. He drew his sword and waved it above his head.

"Charge!" he bellowed.


	11. XI

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Eleven

The knights all charged towards the undead horde. The ground rumbled with a mass of thundering hooves. The knights all bellowed with youthful eagerness. A mass of lances all brought to bear ready to impale their foes.

From her end of the battlefield, Katarina observed with charge with a curious eye.

It's always an impressive sight being confronted with a mass of Bretonnian Knights riding into battle: They boasted so many colours, so much battle fervour and rode with such drive that no one could doubt such courageousness.

But as far as the sorceress was concerned, once you've seen one charge of Bretonnian Knights, you've seen them all.

Besides, no matter how impressive such a sight may be, it's certainly not one that anyone wanted to be front of.

She cast an eye at her imbecile of an ally. Currently, Varlak had ceased raising all the undead that he needed. Now, he gazed at his masses with a demented grin.

"Advance!" he yelled.

Immediately the masses of undead all turned and shambled towards the charging knights.

Katarina shook her head, Why he felt it necessary to say that she'll never know. Being a product of dark magic, it's not like the undead needed such a command.

Let alone hear one.

Personally, she wasn't quite sure what to make of the idiot she still dealt with. At the present time, his decent into madness had taken a deeper turn: Varlak had begun to take up some inane giggling. He didn't seem to pay any attention whatsoever to her instead favouring merely staring into space.

She smiled to herself.

"Well it seems I've guided you far enough" Katarina announced.

Varlak didn't answer.

"You're on your own now!" she added.

The necromancer still failed to respond.

She didn't know why she bothered making such an announcement. Normally, Tzeentch sorcerers disappeared without warning following on from giving misleading advice.

Deluded necromancers or not.

Katarina paused at such a thought and then she shrugged.

And with a snap of her fingers, she vanished completely.

* * *

The knights all charged into the undead, a mass of steel and thundering hooves are driving into their hated foe with the force of a Dwarven warhammer.

They charged without any thought of being outnumbered, potential of defeat or facing a foe that normally send other armies running in fear.

Instead they charged with courage, bravery and an unquestionable willingness to fight for The Lady.

Then, with a tremendous crash, the knights slammed their way into the massed ranks of undead. Lances drove home into naked bone, the hooves of steeds slamming their way into several skulls and steel swords clashed with rusted weaponry. Skeletons fell with a dead whisper and a clatter of bones and Knights were pulled down with screams of both defiance and abject horror.

In the middle of it all, Artios could feel a burst of adrenalin. He didn't any attention to neither his fellow knights nor what was going around him. All he could see was before him rank upon rank of undead before him.

All waiting for him to slay them all.

The knight grinned. Yes, this was it! The heat of battle! Here, he felt so alive! All that dared stand before him will fall!

And it will be an absolute pleasure to do so…

With the charge, all of the Knight Errants scattered, impetuousness overcoming any concept of strategy and whatever need to stay in some sort of formation. All of them headed in all directions, ready to battle the undead.

And in the middle of it all, was Artios.

He charged towards a mass of skeletons his lance ready for battle.

With a sickening crash, the lance slammed its way into several skeletons. Such an impact sent bones scattered: They crumbled into a heap on the ground and some even went flying over Artios' head.

The skeletons surrounded the Knight Errant. Showing a sense of fearlessness that would make a normal man blanch, Artios cast his lance aside and drew his sword.

One of the skeletons charged at him with a brutal axe raised above his head. The knight didn't show any trace of fear whatsoever nor did he back down. Instead he gripped his sword tight and raised his shield before him. The skeleton's axe then came tumbling into the shield where it deflected. But before the skeleton could sense this, he then sensed the knight's sword plunged deep into his ribcage, breaking the bond of dark magic that held him together. As this skeleton fell, a second emerged to take his place. Armed with a massive halberd, this skeleton swung his weapon in a huge arc, piercing through the air with incomparable brutality. Artios reacted to this by bending over back in his saddle and sending his entire upper body over backwards to avoid the blade. He then followed this up by driving his leg out of the stirrup and delivering a lethal kick into the skeleton's stomach. The skeleton was then knocked back by the sheep force of the kick – but Artios wasn't finished with him: He then returned to a standing position only to drive his blade in an arc and separating the skeleton's skull from the rest of him.

A huge skeleton rose to challenge Artios but the knight reacted by cleaving his broadsword into, and right through, him. Still continuing with the charging pace, the knight then faced a second. This one growled at him and through at punch directly at the young knight's face. Sensing this moving, the knight cunningly manoeuvred his face so the massive fist sailed clean past him. Artios responded to this challenge by wielding his sword in massive arc so it sliced off the skeleton's arm in a clean sweep.

This certainly didn't seem like the most honourable of tactics but who cares for the honour when you're fighting for your life?!

A third skeleton rose to challenge Artios but only got as far as having the broadsword driven directly into his face. Retrieving his sword from this latest kill, the knight then turned towards another skeleton – this one had a chain which he flung at Artios. The knight blinked but acted quickly: He held out an armoured arm in front his face. This prompted the chain to come wrapping his arm. Then, with a growl of frustration, Artios pulled with all his might on the chain. This sent the skeleton off his feet and onto the ground. The skeleton fell apart on impact.

A fifth skeleton advanced, caring a massive scythe. Wielding it with two hands, the undead fiend drove in Artios' direction, in an attempt to unhorse him.

But the knight has seen it coming and was prepared to act.

As the scythe's blade descended from up above, the knight shoot his hand to intercept it.

Suddenly, the skeleton wavered – its weapon had hit something solid. Something that wasn't the soft flesh it was looking for. Furthermore, its blade seemed to cease all sense of movement.

Of course, had the skeleton still had eyes, it would've seen what caused the problem.

With a strong grip, Artios had managed to halt the skeleton's attack.

With the scythe's blade mere inches from his skull.

Then, with a roar, Artios pulled the scythe directly out from the skeleton's hands! And without a pause for breath, the knight brought the weapon back into him. The scythe's hand slammed into the skeleton, sending him backwards.

The skeleton was sent sprawling off his feet.

But being dead, the skeleton didn't see the young knight then coming storming over upon his charger.

The skeleton also didn't see the knight's expression: A disturbing mix of emotionless eyes and an evil smile.

Nor did the skeleton see the hoof that came crushing down onto his skull.

* * *

Elsewhere, Leon slaughtered his way through the skeletons, each one falling at his blade in quick succession. At the moment, his mind was focused entirely on fighting this battle. All that mattered was fighting for honour, fighting for the Lady and to send all of these abominations of undeath back where they came from.

With a sweep of his broadsword, he downed several skeletons with ease. With the no sense of fear whatsoever and with the belief that the Lady was with him, Leon felled skeleton after skeleton, thus craving path though the hordes towards the bastard Necromancer.

Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he could see his companion knight storming his way through the skeletons, killing them with the greatest of ease.

The older knight shrugged and, with a ferocious battle cry, charged to the nearest skeleton.

* * *

Artios plunged his way through the hordes of skeletons, slaying one after the other. His blood pumped with each foe slain, his eyes darting left and right looking for challenges, his muscles riding with the adrenalin of battle.

He could feel his armour riddled with many fresh dents, he could feel his flesh being torn and he could feel the throb of numerous injuries.

Artios couldn't see any of his fellow knights any more. For all he knew they too could be fighting their way through the horde.

Either that or dead.

But what did it matter? All he could see before him was amass of bare bone an hundreds of eyeless sockets.

In the middle of it all, Artios began to laugh.

Only he wasn't quite sure what he was laughing for.

* * *

Somewhere in the thick of it, Marcel was driving his sword into the nearest skeleton. Immediately it fell apart and crumbled into a mass of bones onto the bloodied ground.

He blinked. This one would be his fifth…?

He must be doing well….

Marcel grit his teeth and swung his sword into the next skeleton.

"I'll give you all something to talk about!" he roared.

* * *

Elsewhere, Roger fought his way through the skeletons. But he wasn't having much luck: He was being swarmed in all directions by a seemingly endless tide of skeletons.

But whereas such a sight would crack the mind of a normal man, Roger showed no fear. His face showed no sense of hopelessness or any sense of giving up.

It only showed determination.

Gripping his sword tight, he drove it into the nearest group of skjeletons

"The Lady is with me!" he roared.

* * *

Etiole fought on, cleaving his way through a large number of zombies and drawing upon years of experience facing many foes.

He had forgetting about everything else: The Knight Errants he was supposed to be looking out for had all scattered. No other knights were in sight. He had also lost his helmet in the middle of the conflict.

Etiole could sense his shield getting dented from the blows of the enemy. He could also sense the throb of a fresh wound, caused by a blow to the head.

All around were the sight of countless undead. And nowhere to run.

"Get out of my way!" he bellowed.

* * *

Leon paused from his latest kill and looked up. All around he could see the many Knight Errants he had brought here going into the enemy like there was no tomorrow.

The charge had obviously worked: The knights all rode on the pure enthusiasm of youth, without any regard to personal safety or the prospect of being struck down. The more senior knights had held back, ready to take on any foe that the Knight Errants couldn't hold by themselves

But such a thought was more inclined towards wishful thinking….

Still, the mass charge had worked: it brought down a significant number of the undead when all of the lances struck home.

But why bother with tactics? When the Bretonnians wanted to get into combat there was nothing that could stop them. As such, much of the charge had disintegrated into a melee: All of the knights, driven by their impetuous nature and the desire to smite their hated undead foes, had all broken formation and were going straight into battle without any concept of unity.

The Bretonnian force was all in disarray

But Leon cared little of this: The least he can do is offer the young knights an opportunity to fight a glorious battle…….

With a snarl, he drove his word into a nearby skeleton.

* * *

At the other end of the battlefield, Varlak watched the battle progress from atop a large slope. He sported an enormous grin and his eyes sparked with a twisted understanding.

All he could see was the colour of the bare bone that made up his forces. He couldn't see the Bretonnian Knights fighting they way through them all.

He didn't make any kind of movement. He merely sat on his slope, legs crossed and with his eyes staring into the distance. He didn't make any type of effort or any intervention to the progress of the battle.

Varlak giggled, his sanity well and truly gone.

* * *

As the hour of midday transpired, the battle showed no signs of slowing down. The Bretonnian still fought on, using every last ounce of their youthful courage whilst the undead still fought on using every last ounce of the magical will that held them together.

So far, the familiar Bretonnian tactic of charging into the enemy had worked: The enemy had been struck with so much force that the undead had been halted in their tracks. Now, the knights were all plunging deep into ranks of the undead slaying all of their hated foes in all directions. However, the knight's progress wasn't without casualties: Already, a fair number of the young knights lay on the ground, struck down with the most lethal of wounds.

Varlak however made little contribution to the progress of the battle: Instead he just sat on his spot overlooking the battlefield, his eyes staring blankly into and his mouth frozen into a demented grin.

A fair distance away from the battle however, another eye was watching the progress of the battle.

Katarina floated above the battlefield observing everything.

She had given up on helping the idiot Varlak. His mind had gone thanks to the enormous strain caused from reading the forbidden text. He also didn't seem to notice that she had walked out on him.

Her brow furrowed in a sceptical manner. Just what was Garathor thinking? With such a weak mental state that couldn't hope to wield the dark art of necromancy properly, it seemed impossible that Varlak would conquer this village.

Let alone become the unstoppable force that Garathor predicated.

* * *

Down below, Marcel kept fighting, with every ounce of strength in him. He ground his teeth and dealt another killing blow into a nearby skeleton.

What was that now…..his nineteenth?

Then he shrugged. Who cares: Chances are he's already killed more skeletons than most of his comrades!

And perhaps even more than the senior knights.

No reason to stop now then….

And with a shout, he downed another skeleton.

* * *

Elsewhere, Roger fought his way through the mass of undead, his shield was battered through multiple blows and his sword tirelessly cutting down skeleton after skeleton.

He was bleeding in several places and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face.

"Lady, be with me!" he shouted.

* * *

Artios' muscles were aching with constant wielding with his broadsword, his armour was shattered in several places, he had suffered several small injuries, he was caked with blood and his strong frame was wracked with fatigue.

But what mattered was that he was nearing the end the regiment. Sure he was at a stage where he could collapse from being worn out but that didn't bother him. He was a knight of Bretonnia: Abided to the eternal mission of defending the realm of the Lady of the Lake and to slay all forms of evil that dare show their face. It doesn't matter that he loses his life on this task. But what does matter is that he dies letting a hated ally of darkness walk away free.

Standing on top of a mountain of shattered bone, Artios looked down at the remaining undead. A group of zombies all looked ready to face him in combat but at the same time, they seemed wary of him, as if all too aware of what he was capable of.

Despite every muscle in his body screaming in protest, the knight charged his way down the hill and towards the hapless fools.

With a mighty stroke of his broadsword, Artios beheaded one of the zombies with ease. The second one, armed with a spiked club, dealt a might blow in his direction. However, the knight cunningly dodged the blow to drive his battered shield into the jaw of the warrior. A sickening crunch soon followed.

Artios then turned towards the third zombie – who clutched a rusted axe in his hand and a ghastly-looking shield in the other. Artios charged in with his shield raised high.

But something intervened.

It came in the form of a magical thunderbolt.

The thunderbolt came screaming towards Artios and slammed into his shield with such a force that it sent shockwaves resonating throughout the devastated piece of armour. Although the shield had taken plenty of punishment throughout this conflict, this eventually sealed the end of its life. The shield shattered into pieces, finally cracking under so much continuous pressure applied to it.

But even as the shield saved his life, Artios didn't walk away unscathed. The shards of shield flew in all directions, thus leaving nothing in the way of the zombie delivering nasty blow with it's axe. Artios roared with pain but did nothing to halt his attack: With all thoughts directed at slaying the zombie, Artios drove his blade home. The well-used broadsword drove its way into the zombie, sending it back to the grave.

He was the last zombie to dare challenge him.

Artios paused to catch his breathe. He fell down on his knees, breathing heavily and sensing the pain of his wounds caused by the many warriors.

All he could see before him were the many remains of the undead he had brought down. This had proven to be a day of hard fought battles but in the end what mattered is that this was one which the knight had triumphed.

He then paused. Where did that thunderbolt come from? He thought that the necromancer was working alone.

But no matter, Artios will find the bastard who destroyed his shield and make him pay. With his own life.

And with that, the knight charged into the next mass of undead.

* * *

From her position as a battlefield observer, Katarina sighed. Raw magical power crackled across her fingers.

She sure hated to intervene like that: She was only here to assemble all the key players in a trial of strength. Thus it was inappropriate to hurl that thunderbolt in Artios' direction.

But regardless of her intervening, she must keep him alive – Just so her plans for him can one day come to fruition.

And besides, she really had no interest in seeing Artios struck down on this field.

That particular battle is still too far away…..

* * *

With a swing of his blade Etiole downed the last remaining zombie that dared confront him.

He paused for breath: his armour was stained with blood, sweat pores were emerging across his face and he found himself beginning to grow tired.

Such was progress.

Shaking his head he banished any thought of fatigue. All he could think of was continuing to fight on.

Giving up in the middle of battle was hardly the way of the Bretonnian knights.

Looking up, he looked around. At his feet lay the numerous rotting remains of the zombies he had fought. All around were the piles of bones made up of the skeletons that had been felled. Nearby were a group of young Knight Errants who were slowly fighting their way through a small regiment.

Then he caught sight of a familiar face.

Louis was nearby, his armour looking battered and his sword stained with blood but his hand still holding the regimental banner high and proud. At the moment, he was looking for foes to fight.

"Louis!" Etiole shouted.

Catching sight of his commander the Knight Errant rode over to meet him.

"At least you're still alive" Etiole said "Where are the others?'

"They have scattered milord" came the reply "They could be anywhere"

"Wonderful" Etiole muttered "You know…"

But before Etiole could speak he was interrupted in the form of a ghastly shriek. A shriek that could only come from something big, powerful and hideous.

And dead.

Both Etiole and Louis looked up to see the Zombie Dragon. It was circling above the battlefield, looking for a spot to land.

And it did: A small opening in the battlefield. And opening occupied by but two knights.

"You believe it'll land here?" Louis asked.

"I'm not believing" Etiole replied "I'm counting on it!"

Then without warning, the Zombie Dragon took a nose dive. It came hurtling down from the sky, it's dead eyes aimed at both Etiole and Louis.

"Here it comes!" the Knight of the Realm shouted "Out of the way!

"But sir…"

"Give him space!" Etiole retorted.

He then looked over to the nearby group of Knight Errants. They had managed to defeat the last of the skeletons.

Timely…

"You!" Etiole shouted "Over there! Want to fight a dragon?!"

With such a prospect, The Knight Errants needed little persuasion. They all came charging over to join Louis and Etiole.

The dragon swooped above them, its enormous rotten wings spread out in an intimidating fashion. The dragon then descended its way down to meet the group of young knights. It's dead claws hit the ground with a tremendous thud, sending shock waves across the battlefield.

The rider of the dragon glared down at them all.

But not one of them showed any sense of fear whatsoever.

"Come on lads!" Etiole shouted "Who wants to take his head?!"

And with a shout, the Knight Errants all charged into battle.

The dragon glared down at them. And it raised one its claws, ready to deal a killing blow. A blow that Etiole saw coming.

"Heads!" he bellowed.

Immediately, the knights all reacted accordingly. They all scattered in various directions, each taken different directions in order to avoid the decaying claws.

Some of the Knight Errants weren't so lucky: They were swept in the dragon's claw and sent flying across the battlefield.

But the knights that did remain drove home their attack. Their lances drove straight into the dragon, deep into whatever flesh remained of the beast.

The dragon roared a hollow roar - one that sounded more like a whisper of a once glorious challenge. Then it brought its head down to the level of the knights.

But Etiole immediately sensed what was coming.

"It's going to breathe fire!" he shouted "Prepare yourselves!"

The knights all nodded and promptly took evasive action. They immediately altered the direction of their charge, aiming to be as far away as possible from the location of where, the Zombie Dragon decided to breathe fire.

The only problem was determining where that location would be.

The dragon opened its mouth and flames began gather upon its tongue. Then, with a roar, the gathering fire shot out in a column of flame that plunged its way towards the ground. Most of the Knight Errants acted quickly and directed their chargers out of the way but some weren't as lucky: The flame struck both knight and rider from above, thus incinerating them both in a matter of seconds. Several knights screamed with pain as they were engulfed in fire. This promptly sent several of the Knight Errants into confusion.

Both Etiole and Louis were among the survivors.

"Come on!" Etiole shouted, his voice booming loud enough to be heard by all the Knight Errants "Let's show this abomination what we're made of!"

Hearing a voice of authority in amongst the mayhem, the Knight Errants all heeded his call. Seeing Louis' banner still standing tall, they all carried on with the charge.

With lances at the ready, Etiole, Louis and the remaining Knight Errants continued with the last leg of their charge. With seconds, all of their lances struck home, striking the Zombie Dragon in its legs and lower body. Cold Bretonnian steel smashed its way deep into the decaying skin, tearing flesh and muscles with the greatest of ease.

The dragon roared with pain, in a cracked voice. Then, in one sweep of its muscular arms, it struck the knights, its claws strong enough to shatter armour and splinter lances. Most of the Knight Errants saw such blows coming and quickly moved out of the way but some weren't so lucky. Some of the Knights Errants were then flung up off their steeds. Others were scooped up of the ground, steed and all, and went sailing through the air only to come crashing down to the earth below.

Etiole drew his sword and looked up at the behemoth that loomed above him.

"Come on men!" he yelled "Since when has a dragon ever bested a Bretonnian Knight?!

"I'll rather be damned than be bested by a dragon – whether it be dead or alive!"

Immediately, the remaining Knight Errants all looked up and shouted their approval. They then drew all their swords and immediately launched into strike the Dragon's scaly flesh

The dragon gazed down from up above and roared at the knights.

"Come and get me!" Etiole shouted back.

* * *

From her elevated position, Katarina watched the battle, her keen eyes escaping nothing.

The Bretonnians had fought been fighting a long and hard battle against the undead, fighting with only the guidance of their youthful enthusiasm and their passionate hatred for the restless dead.

It was indeed a contrast between the large number of undead who shambled forth and fought without any clue where they were going nor without any concept of being directed by a strong source of leadership.

She had left Varlak to his own devices – and what a difference the battle had made without her intervention: Varlak had done absolutely nothing for the entire battle. Instead he had resigned himself to sitting at rear of the undead ranks. From where she could see him, Katarina noted that not once did he make any king of action: he didn't cast one spell nor did he make an effort to increase the number of udnead through raising more skeleteons.

As far as Katarina could tell, he never once showed any interest in the battle at all.

Still there wasn't much left to do now. She had played her part in bringing the Knights to the necromancer. All she could do now was wait for the outcome of the battle.

Which, judging by what she's seeing at the moment, shouldn't be too far away.

* * *

In the middle of it all, Leon fought on, driving his ancient broadsword into skeleton after skeleton. He was advancing his way through the undead horde, trying to locate the blasted Necromancer.

He had lost count of how many foes he had already cut down, and he certainly had felt the brunt of several blows from the fiends but he kept going. After all, he was a Grail Knight, one of The Lady's chosen. Nothing will dare strike down such a warrior of virtue.

Especially not one of the undead.

And being the commander of this force of Knight Errants, he was expected to lead from the front and set an example for them to follow.

And beside, it won't look terribly good should he fail to fulfil his duties as a knight.

He struck down yet another skeleton – and in doing so he created an opening in the horde.

And there he saw it: A small man, sitting by himself dressed in tattered black robes and wearing the most absurd looking helm.

Leon smiled to himself. Looks like he had just found what he was looking for. He fought his way to the edge of the horde and advanced towards the Necromancer.

The man was sitting by himself some metres away from the rest of the skeleton horde. He made no sign of movement whatsoever nor did he seem to be aware of what was happening around him.

Least of which was the Grail Knight bearing down upon him.

As he advanced Leon kept his eye on the Necromancer. But as he drew closer, something began bothering him: The man did not move. Nor did he show any indication of impending doom.

As he drew closer, the Grail Knight caught sight of the man's eyes. They were wide, vacant and showed little in the way of understanding. Then he saw the Necromancer's mouth: It was deformed – split wide across his face in a seemingly permanent grin. And from it came a soft sound that Leon immediately identified as giggling.

The knight could feel a smile break across his face. He understood what was going on entirely.

Readying his blade, Leon cleared his throat.

"So you're Lord Varlak are you not?"

The man didn't answer. Instead he continued giggling.

Without waiting for a response, Leon continued.

"You're the one responsible for all these undead?"

The man still didn't answer.

The Grail Knight sighed. He could recall a time when Necromancers were evil men of twisted intelligence, and dark intentions. They were the type who could end lives at the blink of an eye, raise the restless undead with greatest of ease and who radiated with a presence to be feared.

They certainly nothing like this dreg.

Perhaps he was getting old…

But no matter – a necromancer is still a necromancer.

He raised his broadsword.

The man didn't bat an eyelid.

The blade descended.

* * *

With the death of the necromancer, the undead army collapsed. No longer driven by Varlak's own will, the legions crumbled to the ground. The skeletons disintegrated into piles of bones. Zombies stumbled to their ground, their rotting flesh decaying to bone in a matter of seconds. And carrion came hurtling down from the skies only to strike the ground with an incredible thud and rot before the eyes of the onlookers.

Immediately all around was silence. The Knight Errants, whom were all still standing, all looked around in disbelief. And then suddenly, all of them roared in unison.

The battle was over.

* * *

Marcel made his way across the battlefield, his feet traversing across the many bones that used to be animated skeletons.

He could feel his joints grown with fatigue and he felt like his sword had gained ten more pounds in weight. But he was happy. Happy to be alive.

It had been a great battle. He had slain many of the undead. So many he had lost count. But what mattered is he played his part and come out alive.

A feat worthy of commanding respect from his pears….

Just then, he heard a shout.

"Marcel!"

The Knight Errant looked up and saw a trio of familiar faces.

Roger, Louis and Etiole. All came a walking towards him. All three looked tired and battered – but each of their facial expressions was different. Louis, still carrying his banner, looked unflappable as usual, Etiole looked happy and Roger looked rather grumpy.

Marcel grinned to himself. Same as usual….

"Good to see you're all still alive!" he called.

"Same to you" Etiole said.

"Something the matter sir?" Marcel said "You seem unusually happy"

"I achieved something of a major feat today" the Knight of the Realm answered.

"That should've been me!" Roger snapped.

"What did you do?" Marcel asked, ignoring his fellow Knight Errant.

"Take a look up there" Etiole answered jerking his thumb upwards.

The Knight of the Errant looked up to the top of Louis' banner pole.

Where he saw, to his astonishment, the rotting head of a Zombie Dragon impaled upon the top.

* * *

Artios breathed heavily. His face was lined with trickles of sweat, his sword was dripping with blood, his armour was battered from many blows and he had lost his shield.

But now there were no more foes to face. The Necromancer was dead, taking the will of the army away with him.

The knight drove his broadsword into the ground. Then, he paused and looked up at the sky. All around him, he could hear the rest of surviving knights cheering: Several stories were beginning to be told and some of the knights were beginning to sing a victory hymn to The Lady.

Artios' brow furrowed.

Victory.

How disgusting.

* * *

Katarina took one last look over the battlefield. Before her was a mass of discarded bones and numerous corpses of Bretonnian Knights. All around, the distinctive sounds of victory celebrations mingled with the caws of newly arrived crows.

The priestess of Tzeentch smiled in satisfaction. Her task was done: she had ensured that one potential for greatness died whilst another lived.

One never reached his destiny whilst the other was another step closer towards it.

Closing her eyes, Katarina vanished.


	12. XII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Twelve

The post-battle evening was one of celebrations. The knights retreated to the village tavern to toast their victory. Beer was guzzled, songs were sung and tales of the glorious day were beginning to be spun.

Not all of the knights were keen on celebrating victory. Some of the Knight Errants retired to their beds, some worn by battle fatigue and some thankful to the Lady that they were able to survive this day.

One such knight was Artios. Ignoring whatever activities his companions may be up to, he instead retreated to his tent to rest his weary body.

Yet for Artios however sleep didn't come so easy. Resting in a bed was more like an open invitation for someone to come in and strike him down – right when he is least expecting and when his defences are at their most lax.

As such, he didn't bother with the bed – instead he rested underneath the cot used as a bed with his sword within easy each.

Of course it sounded absurd that a foe would dare trespass on a Bretonnian encampment when there were many knights at the ready but Artios wasn't taking any chances.

The other thing that bothered him with sleep was that it came with its brand of dreams: images that provided a mixture of past visions and future premonitions.

And some cases dreams are nothing more than disguises that nightmares use.

Slowly, although unwillingly, Artios could feel his eyelids grow heavy

And it didn't take long until he slipped into sleep.

And into dreams….

* * *

_Lady Fluerisse d'Aquitane shivered at the noises that rumbled outside. This certainly was a most unusual storm – she had lived through storms before but she had never experience done such as this. Compared to other storms, this one seemed so ferocious it was unnatural._

_Fluerisse was a certainly a beauty to behold: She had soft green eyes that betrayed her gentle nature, a pair of lips as red as a fresh rose and a perfectly rounded face with the most delicate of skin. She had long, brown hair that reached down to her waist, complimented with a slender body and robes of turquoise. She was sitting in a well furnished room – it was coloured crimson on the walls and the floor with compliments from the presence of golden lining. This room was dominated by an enormous four poster bed, carved from dark-wood and sporting fine caramel-coloured sheets. At one side of the room was a huge bookcase made from mahogany and loaded with a huge number of books. At the other end of the room, there was a small dressing table, made of finely crafted marble. Finally, the room was protected from above with a pure white ceiling. All in all, this room betrayed it's allegiance to an extremely rich benefactor. _

_The Bretonnian Lady's eyes narrowed. Was it possible that a storm such as this could exist? The thought that seemed unnatural was a challenging one – who on earth could muster such incredible power of nature and manipulate it to their own will?_

_Fluerisse had once heard that the Dark Elves were capable of such a task….._

_Her eyes lowered at such a thought. She had often heard tales of the depraved beings from Naggaorth from the many knights who resided here in Bordeleaux and they certainly were horrific tales indeed. The knights said they possessed a natural beauty, far beyond the capabilities of humans but, at the same time, they had a delight in slavery, killing and torture. They were cunning in mind and brutal in nature, caring little for anything but their own selfish motivations. _

_Fluerisse shivered at the thought: she had never met a Dark Elf and, if the tale she's been told are anything to go by, it would seems it would be best of it remain that way. But such thing was hardly that much of a bother to Fluerisse. After all she was living in Bretonnia, the kingdom of the mightiest knights in the Old World and the land blessed by the Lady of the Lake. No Dark Elf would dare set foot on this land when it is defended by the paragons of justice and righteousness!_

_Smiling, Fluerisse banished any thoughts of such nefarious nature. Such thought would most likely draw forth suspicious minds whom may believe she is working in cohorts with the many faces of evil that trouble Bretonnia. _

_You just can't trust anyone these days……_

_Just then, there was a knock at the door – thus breaking Fluerisse out of her reverie. _

"_Yes?" she called._

_The door didn't open. Instead, a voice began resonating from behind it. _

"_I'm sorry to trouble you milady" said the voice "But there is a man here to see you. He arrived to this house just now"_

_Fluerisse's brow furrowed. It seems now the question she was pondering on now has answers – even if unexpected. _

_Therefore, all the more reason to be suspicious….._

"_What does he want?" she demanded. "If it's one of those wretched peasants trying to obtain something for nothing, then throw him out!"_

"_I can assure you he's not a peasant" the voice replied "He is actually the servant of another Bretonnian lady. He even has her seal to prove it"_

"_Oh really?"_

"_He claims to know you milady. He says he's representative of Coralie Trintigant…"_

_At the mention of that name, Fluerisse's eyes widened. Immediately, she got up out of her chair and rushed for the door. She flung it open to be confronted with a young man, dressed in the distinctive clothes of a squire._

_The Bretonnian lady cast a hardened gaze at the man._

"_Are you sure about that?" she demanded_

"_Absolutely milady"_

"_Tell me where he is"_

* * *

_Gaston d'Aquitane was not feeling very happy._

_He could feel his bones moaning in distress. He could sense his exhausted joints pleading for a long over due rest. He could feel his arms, tired from swinging his sword all today against a horde of despicable beastmen, desperate for the rest they so deserved. _

_But Gaston wasn't having the best of times settling down: Trying to relax in the middle of the most ferocious storm certainly wasn't going to be an easy task but such an undertaking wasn't made any easier with a sudden burst of activity within the keep: For the past twenty minutes, Gaston could hear the sound of feet running up and down the hallway and the type of excited chatter that only the servants could muster. _

_He ground his teeth. Dammit, if they dare keep him from his sleep, then he would go teach them a lesson they won't forget in a hurry!_

_Thus, he now stormed down the hallway, looking for the reason of this disturbance in the middle of the night. _

_Gaston was a Knight of the Realm. And, as befit of his duty of a knight, he certainly was a huge man. He had a powerful body with incredible muscles and athletic prowess. He had a face that had been hardened through countless battles, complimented with brown eyes that burned with ferocity, a back hair cropped short and a massive scar that ran down the left side of his face._

_Being a Knight of the Realm, he pledged his service to the city of Bordeleaux, and, as such, he was master of his own keep, Mort-Falaise. Therefore, he was dressed in robes of black and red – the colours that betrayed his own battle heraldry. _

_Just then, Gaston caught sight of someone up ahead. He immediately recognised them as one of his squires. _

"_You there! Jehan!' the knight called. _

_At the sound of his master's voice, the squire looked up. _

"_What's going on here?" Gaston demanded. "The keep sounds much nosier than usual"_

"_A visitor has arrived here just now milord" the squire named Jehan replied. "He seems to be an old acquaintance of the lady"_

_Gaston raised an eyebrow._

"_Really?" _

"_It is true milord"_

"_What is his name?"_

"_He didn't say" the squire replied "he just said that he's a representative of a Lady Coralie Trintigant"_

_At the mention of this name Gaston's facial expression evolved into a sneer._

"_Trintigant?!" he exclaimed "That fool?!"_

_Jehan blinked._

"_Show me this squire" Gaston commanded, his voice stern._

"_It shall be done milord" The squire replied. _

_Fluerisse stood in a room of the castle: One with red walls, black floor and a white ceiling. She stood in the centre. Beside her stood a young Knight Errant, standing to attention and ready for action. _

_And behind her stood two ladies in waiting. Both stood watching the scene with their backs to the wall. One was dressed in a blue gown and sported a mass of long red hair that cascaded down her back. She looked to be in her early twenties. The other lady, who looked to be several years older than her companion. She was dressed in an indigo dress and had her hair concealed under a hood and wimple. _

_And in front of her kneeled a squire: A battered, travel-worn squire whom she faced with a hard gaze. He certainly looked a horrific sight: his hair was matted; his clothes were stained with blood, sweat and mud, and his facial expression was a combination of exhaustion and horror. _

_Yet his appearance explained a lot: He had risked his life to come here and he most likely had to do so at incredible expense._

"_So you're the squire under the servitude of Lady Coralie Trintigant?" she asked._

"_That I am milady" the squire replied._

"_And where is she?"_

"_Milady, I was travelling on my way here with my mistress. I was part of a squire escort to her and her son. We were approaching this citadel when we were ambushed!"_

"_Tell me what happened" she commanded "Spare no details"_

"_I was leading my mistress and her son through the forests outside this very citadel when we descended upon a horde of Goblin Wolf Riders! My brother squires put up a brave fight but in the end the green-skins overwhelmed us all. It was then that my mistress gave me the task of taking her son and riding him to safety._

"_That's how I ended up here"_

_Fluerisse listened with grave interest, lines of concern written across her face. _

_She immediately turned to the Knight Errant._

"_Jacques!" she commanded._

"_Yes milady!" the Knight Errant answered._

"_Form a search party: I want you to find Lady Coralie Trintigant!"_

"_It shall be done, milady" the Knight Errant bowed. Keeping his head bowed, he left the room. _

_Fluerisse then turned to the squire. _

"_You do understand that I can't guarantee that she'll be alive. Please understand that is the least I can do"_

"_I understand milady" the squire answered. _

_And with that he followed Fluerisse out of the room. _

_The two ladies in waiting watched the scene with curious eyes. _

_The younger one cleared her throat._

"_The lady certainly seems anxious about this Lady Coralie"_

"_Hush Isolde" the other one said "You'll be wise not to question the Lady of the house like that"_

_The lady named Isolde blinked but then she nodded._

_A small pause occurred. Then Isolde cleared her throat._

"_Tell me Heloise" she asked "Have you heard of this Lady Coralie Trintigant before?"_

"_Of course" the lady named Heloise replied "I knew her from many years ago. It was when I began working with the Lady Fluerisse some nine years ago."_

"_Nine years!" Isolde exclaimed "What was she like?"_

"_I could tell you but there's a very long story behind it"_

"_Oh, a story!" the younger lady smiled eagerly "Do tell!"_

"_Well then" Heloise began "It began at a time when the master of this house, Gaston, was working for Baron Marcel Lubran. It was his own chosen task as a Knight Errant that he swear servitude to a senior knight. It was during this time that both Fluerisse and Gaston met the knight Mathieu Trintigant and his wife Coralie. Matheiu was there for the same reason of wanting to serve under Baron Lubran's guidance. However, for some reason unbeknownst to Fluerisse, neither Mathieu nor Gaston got on well together. It seemed strange for this considering that they fought under the same banner…._

"_Anyway, when their respective husbands were occupied with their daily knightly duties, Fluerisse made the effort to talk to Coralie. From the outset, she seemed rather enigmatic: She spoke every little, she kept to herself and she didn't really seem to be trying too hard to interact with the other ladies in Lubran's castle. This isolation inspired some nasty rumours but Fluerisse paid no attention to such nonsense. She only saw a woman alone."_

"_That's a very noble move" Isolde said._

"_Indeed" Heloise nodded "Anyway, she took it upon herself to provide the fulfilment that Coralie was lacking. So Fluerisse went to the effort of striking up something of a friendship with Coralie – it wasn't easy at first but within time, Coralie began to warm up to this hand of friendship. Over time, the two ladies managed to establish a firm friendship and spent many days together. Most of the time, Fluerisse would speak of her husband and how proud she was of him. However, whenever she asked about Coralie's husband Mathieu, she wouldn't say a lot. All that she hinted of their relationship was that she had an unshakable amount of pride in him and she was proud of what he'd accomplished. _

"_It was Fluerisse's hand of friendship that eventually brought a change within Coralie's character. Within time, however, Coralie begun opening up towards the other ladies of the castle. It was through this gradual increase of interaction that Coralie become a well-liked member within this group. Yet, what they found particularly striking about her was her unshakable faith in Mathieu – even when the knights of the castle told a different story about him."_

"_What did the other knights say about Mathieu?" Isolde asked._

"_I don't know" Heloise replied "I did ask on several occasions but they refused to tell me for some reason. _

"_Eventually, Mathieu was involved in a scandal that resulted in him being banished from the Baron's castle. This, in turn, inspired him to seek redemption by going on the Grail quest. However Coralie insisted on leaving the castle – citing that he was her husband and she would follow him even to the bowels of Hell."_

_Isolde's eyes widened._

"_What devotion" she exclaimed._

"_Oh yes" Heloise went on "The ladies of the castle persuaded Coralie to stay, citing this scandal had nothing to do with her, that she would be safe in the castle and she had a home within this company. _

"_But Coralie insisted on leaving – she returned to her village and was never seen again"._

"_Until now of course" Isolde said._

"_Too true" Heloise murmured._

_A brief silence hung between the two. Then the younger lady cleared her throat._

"_Do you know if Matheiu ever succeeded in finding the Grail?"_

"_I seriously doubt it" the other lady replied. _

"_What makes you say that?"_

"_Although I never Mathieu, the impression I got from those that did was that he wasn't the best of knights. Thus I have my doubts that he would've possessed the fighting skills to make much progress."_

"_What if he did?" Isolde said "That would make a story worth telling!"_

"_I bet it would" Heloise said.  
_

_"Besides, I doubt that any knight would leave their wife all alone like that"_

_Isolde blinked but said nothing more. _

* * *

_Some time later, Fluerisse paced across the floor in her bedroom._

_It had been at least two hours since she sent the knight Jacques out to find the lady Coralie. It seemed doubtful that she would still be alive but she couldn't sit around and do nothing. _

_Suddenly, the door opened and in strode in Jacques._

"_Yes?" Fluerisse, her voice hopeful._

"_Milady" the Knight said "We have found her"_

"_Alive?"_

_The knight bowed his head._

_Fluerisse blinked as her face paled._

"_We found her several miles out of Bordeleaux. She was surrounded by the bodies of several dead squires and their horses. We have no idea how long she had been like that for. _

"_We have brought the body back here. We got the squire to identify it and yes, he confirmed it as Lady Coralie_

"_I'm so sorry milady"_

_Fluerrisse bowed her head._

"_Show me" she commanded in a soft voice "I want to see her for myself."_

* * *

_Fluerisse knelt down beside the body laid prostrate before her. She gripped the feminine hand and pressed it against her._

_But it was still cold._

_When she was greeted with the sight of Coralie, it painted a devastating image: her travelling clothes may have once been coloured burgundy but they were now saturated, torn and dulled with large amount of mud. Her once beautiful blonde hair was now matted, tangled and unkempt. Her porcelain flesh was now hideously pale and scarred from the heat of battle. And worst of all, a huge arrow shaft, being obviously of Goblin manufacture, had buried it's way into her stomach. As such, Coralie, having lost a lot of blood, had now eventually succumbed to the fatal wound. _

_Fluerisse still clutched the cold hand – but it had no desire to return to its formerly warm state. _

"_Coralie" she murmured. "What did they do to you?"_

_When no reply came, Fluerisse closed her eyes and held the cold hand against her cheek – its cold nature inspired a well of tears within her eyes…… _

_As the lady wept for her departed friend, two pairs of eyes were watching her every move._

_Gaston and Jehan watched the scene being played out before them from the other side of the room. Gaston stood, with his back leant against the wall – but had Fleurisse not have her back to them both; she would've noticed the sneer across the knight's face. _

"_Forgive me for asking, milord" the squire said "but have you heard of this Trintigant fellow before?"_

_The knight nodded._

"_Back when I was a Knight Errant, I met Mathieu Trintigant. We were both employed by the same baron, Marcel Lebrun, to fight in his name. I was only there to obtain my spurs - But Mathieu was different: he turned up one day demanding that Lebrun take him in"_

"_And did Baron Lebrun do so?" Jehan asked._

"_He didn't at first" Gaston continued "If anything, all of us at the barony castle found it difficult to take him seriously. He was dressed in rusted armour, he had a broken sword and he had the unmistakable stench of a commoner. It was fairly obvious that he was a peasant masquerading as a knight._

"_Baron Lebrun did send him away but he kept coming back. He even brought the heads of various Skaven with him!"_

"_Did the baron let him after that?" _

"_Well those Skaven heads were quite genuine so Lebrun eventually relented. But we knights knew better: We suspected that Mathieu had stolen them from somewhere. After all, the Skaven don't exist - only the commoners believe that nonsense"_

_Gaston chuckled softly at this notion. Jehan however failed to see the funny side. _

"_Anyway" the knight went on "That's how Mathieu began fighting alongside us knights. But that's not to say he was any good – he couldn't ride properly, he couldn't use a lance correctly, he had no idea in wielding a sword and he kept collapsing under the weight of his armour! Eventually, after weeks of frustration and complaints from us knights, Lebrun was forced to banish Mathieu from his castle. This then prompted the fool to take up the Grail quest. He declared it when we were throwing him into the castle moat"_

"_And did he?"_

"_Absolutely. The next day, he was reported to have left Bordeleaux, his shield bearing the mark of a Questing knight. _

"_He didn't get very far though: he was eventually found by some peasants some miles out of the city"_

"_What had happened to him?" Jehan asked._

"_Nobody was really certain" Gaston mused. "In fact, with the body that was recovered, we weren't even sure if it was him. It had been smashed completely with something enormous and heavy. The armour had been dented beyond recognition, and his bones had been crushed completely."_

_Gaston paused and watched as Jehan's face paled and his expression grew into one of being completely unwell. The knight smirked in amusement at the commoner._

"_Jehan? Do refrain from being sick in my house"_

"Y-Y-Yes milord" the squire replied. Gradually, he did manage to keep his dinner down and regain his composure.

_"Anyway milord" Jehan said. "Was it ever made clear what had happened to Mathieu?"_

_Gaston shrugged. _

_"It was obvious that Mathieu had been destroyed by something huge and strong. I guess he wanted to attack the biggest thing he could find to win the Lady's favour."_

_"But instead the fool got himself killed" Jehan said, stating exactly what his master was thinking. _

_Gaston nodded._

_"But at the same time," he continued "Rumours were circulating that a huge giant had been lurking the area. I think the peasants claimed he called himself Brotan Thunderbreath…._

_"But then again I never took such rumours seriously. After all what would a giant be doing in Bretonnia creating havoc? I found such a prospect hard to believe because any knight would've stormed in and slew him without any trouble whatsoever."_

_"And what of Lady Coralie?" Jehan inquired._

_"When Mathieu lived in Baron Lebrun's castle, Coralie went with him as his wife" Gaston muttered. "I'm surprised that the imbecile Mathieu managed to find himself one. But from the looks of it seems Fluerisse knew her…."_

_ "Perhaps they became friends when they were at the castle?" Jehan theorised._

_"Preposterous!" came the sneered reply "What would a proper lady ever see in a dullard as Mathieu?! It's most likely that Coralie was some simple tavern wench!"_

_"But that doesn't explain how Lady Coralie and Lady Fluerisse had known each other beforehand" the squire protested._

_Gaston didn't reply. Instead, he delivered a vicious blow to Jehan's jaw. The squire flinched but he managed to remain on his feet. He blinked at his master with a look of utter bewilderment but the knight glared at him. _

_"Don't question your betters" Gaston growled. _

* * *

_The boy sat in the chair, his eyes wide and his face paled._

_He was certainly bewildered by what had happened over the past few hours. First his mother had been wounded in an ambushed. Then he had to accompany his mother to this strange place. _

_Once inside, some squires took his mother into this room – where she hasn't been seen since. The boy was ordered to wait outside – so he did, thinking the squires would heal his mother's wound. _

_So the boy waited patiently in this hallway, by the door, waiting for the moment his mother will come through, having made a complete recovery._

_He looked around, his eyes taking in everything he could about his surroundings: He seemed to be in a hallway but this hallway wasn't like anything he had seen before: The walls were made from fine mahogany, complimented with golden lining and white marble skirtings. The floor was covered with a carpet of fine velvet and the rook was also made from white marble. And all around the hallway were huge paintings, each depicting knights in combat – some of them celebrated the achievements of Gilles Le Breton (a name that was completely beyond the boy's knowledge) whilst others were about Gaston d'Aquitane (another unfamiliar name). _

_Regardless however of the boy's knowledge of Gaston d'Aquitane, he had to admit that he certainly seemed to be a knight of great esteem. _

_It made the boy wonder what he was like in real life……_

_Eventually, the door creaked open._

_The boy's eyes lit up. In a single quick movement, he leapt out of his chair and onto his feet._

_And out stepped a woman._

_But it wasn't the boy's mother: It was a woman with brown hair and a turquoise robe. The boy blinked this was most unexpected - particularly with the fact that the woman's face was streaked with stream of liquid and her eyes were glowing red._

_The woman caught sight of the boy and her lips formed into a smile. But this wasn't a real smile – the lips moved but the eyes still looked overcome with utter despair. _

_She strode towards the boy and knelt down before him, so her face was directly in front of the boy's own._

_"Hello there" she said._

_Her voice sounded somewhat artificial – it was trying it's best to be friendly but there resided intense emotion that was getting in the way._

_"I'm Fluerisse" she said._

_The boy blinked again, his bewilderment as strong as ever. Nevertheless, words began forming out from his lips:_

_"W-W-Where is my mother?"_

_The lady's face turned grim._

_"I have some bad news for you"_

_The boy continued to stare, his expression blank and pale. The lady's brow furrowed, trying to find the ways of wording what was going to come next. _

_"Your mother…….. is…….."_

_"Yes?"_

_"…she…. Is…." Fluerisse stumbled, her mind in conflict on how to break this to the child._

_"…Dead?" the child finished._

_The lady flinched at this utterance. She looked at the child – his expression still unchanged since she started speaking to him._

_Then, with a burst of tears, the lady wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close. Fluerisse began sobbing but the child didn't seem to make any kind of reaction. _

_"Your mother is dead' Fluerisse confirmed. "She is gone. _

_"I am so sorry"_

_The boy blinked as the weight of this knowledge came chasing down upon him. Strangely enough, his facial expression didn't seem to show it. _

_Eventually, Fluerisse managed to gather her wits. She then leaned back and placed her hand son the boys shoulders. She fixed him with a hardened gaze. _

_"Now you must listen to me" she said, her voice cracked with emotion but possessing a fair amount of strength, Your mother have passed on but you have survived! You have for a reason! _

_"You must live! You must live for yourself and your mother!_

_"But do not fear that you are alone: I'll look after you. I'll take care of you. And I'll raise you to be a strong, brave knight like you're mother wanted you to be."_

_The boy still didn't respond._

_"What is your name?"_

_The boy didn't reply immediately. But his brain soon identified the question and he nodded._

_"Artios"_


	13. XIII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Thirteen

_Fluerisse closed the door to the keep's dining room, a sense of relief running through her._

_She had just instructed some of her servants to clothe, bathe and feed Artios. She also ordered for a room to be set up for the boy to live in. _

_Rest in peace Coralie she thought Rest easy knowing that I will look after Artios as you said. _

_Suddenly, a voice broke Fluerisse from her thoughts._

"_I don't approve of this" _

_Immediately Fluerisse spun around – only to be confronted with the sight of Gaston, leaning against the wall._

"_What do you mean?" she asked._

"_I don't want that boy in my house" the knight growled._

"_What?!" Fluerisse exclaimed "You can't be serious!"_

"_No, I'm just the master of this house" Gaston replied sternly "You forget that being the master I make the rules_

"_And I don't want that boy here"_

"_I don't believe this!" Fluerisse declared in complete exasperation. "He's just survived an ambush, he's lost his mother and you want to throw him out?!"_

"_I will not sleep easily knowing I share the same roof with the offspring of that imbecile Mathieu and that wench!" Gaston snarled._

_Fluerisse could feel her blood boil with outrage – but she didn't make any kind of confrontational move whatsoever. She didn't raise her hand to strike her husband, nor did she begin screaming at him._

_Instead she smiled a cunning smile. _

"_Of course I should inform you" she said slowly "That the woman you described as a 'wench' made me swear a promise that I will raise the boy to become a knight"_

_At the mention of the words 'swear' and 'promise', Fluerisse noted Gaston stiffen. These were the very words that all the knights of Bretonnia knew very well and Gaston wasn't in any position to argue. Instead he remained silent as his eyes travelled to the ceiling and his mouth quivering in an outraged manner._

_Smiling in triumph, Fluerisse turned around and disappeared up the hallway. _

* * *

"_I think you will it enjoy it here" the squire said "Lady Fluerisse is truly a wonderful mistress"_

_The child said nothing in reply._

"_Did you have a good sleep last night?" the squire asked, the silence from the child growing increasingly unsettling._

_The child still chose to say nothing._

_It had been three days following the arrival of an unexpected addition to the keep. Sensing that the child may, understandably, be suffering from some kind of trauma following his arrival, Fluerisse had ordered the child not to be disturbed. Instead she ordered the servants to take care of the boy, and to provide him with clothing and food. Only later, will she then try to talk to him._

_And that day had finally arrived – currently, the squire Jehan made his way through the halls of Mort-Falaise. He was instructed by Fluerisse to bring the child whom had arrived last night so he can be acquainted to his new home._

_The squire certainly a lot of admiration for the lady – she seemed such a kind, noble and gentle soul. Jehan had heard what had happened to Artios yesterday and had to admit that the child certainly commanded a lot of sympathy. There's no telling how that incident would've affected his mind but Jehan knew that if one person could set the child on the right path, it would be the lady Fluerisse. _

_The first part of this task had proven to be easy: He was able to find the child within his designated room – easy. But the next part wasn't proving to be an entirely comfortable situation._

_The child certainly looked completely different from what the squire could recall from last night. Sure he had abandoned his stained clothes for a clean, beige tunic accompanied by black arms and legs, but the appearance of the child was something of a revelation: Any fear from they boy's face had evaporated completely, his facial expression had grown into a hideously grim mask, his eyes that were once filled with utter shock had evolved into something much, much colder._

_And on top of that, the child had not said a single thing during this journey. _

_Of course it was only to Jehan's imagination as to what happened to the child the previous night and how the events of yesterday shaped his mind……_

_Never the less, it didn't really deter Jehan from trying to establish a conversation: _

"_So, where did you come from?"_

_The child still refused to answer – so the squire kept the questions coming, asking them one after another when one of the question remained unanswered._

"_Do you want to become a knight?"_

"_Do you believe you may find the Grail one day?"_

"_What was the name of the village you came from?"_

"_What was your mother like?"_

_This last question finally provoked a response – but not the one that Jehan was expecting. _

_The boy's foot immediately came crashing down upon the squire's own. The squire yelped with pain as his foot throbbed. He immediately started thinking of scolding the child when he found the child's gaze was facing directly at the floor._

_Jehan blinked at the child. Then, he noticed the child' hand was in the constant motion of clenching and unclenching a fist. And whilst the squire couldn't see the child's eyes, Jehan could see his lips tremble, issuing a small whimpering sound. _

_The squire could feel his eyes soften. He then reached and laid a comforting hand on the shoulder of the child. _

_The whimpering didn't cease _

_The squire's brow furrowed – did the child appreciate the gesture? _

_Eventually he shrugged – Instead he applied gentle push into the child's shoulder. This triggered a sense of movement and the child continued moving. Thus, Jehan continued with his task of guiding the child down the hallway and to Fluerisse._

_Although his foot throbbed, Jehan ignored it. The lady of the house certainly wouldn't appreciate the child being inflicted with any sort of harm._

_Particularly when the harm in question came from the hand of a commoner._

_Needless to say, the rest of the journey was uneventful. Jehan led the way whilst Artios followed – in complete silence. However the squire wasn't feeling entirely comfortable with the child's presence – this child had been through so much over such a small space of time. _

_Thus, it was anyone's guess what Lady Fluerisse intended to do with him…._

_Eventually, both Jehan and Artios came to their destination: it was a door set within the hallway. But whilst they had both passed many doors on the way here, this door was different: It was border-lined by a golden doorway and the door itself was made from a much richer wood than any of the other doors that Artios had seen so far._

_Jehan knocked on the door._

_A voice on the other side, one that was rich in femineity, said: "Who is it?"_

"_Milady" Jehan said "I have the child like you asked" _

"_Send him in" replied the voice on the other side._

_The squire then pushed opened the door_

_And slowly a new world opened before the child. The room beyond the door seemed to resemble that of a gallery: The walls were bare and grey, each corner was occupied with greats tone columns and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. But each of the walls was home to a massive portrait. Each portrait was enormous in size, lined within a golden frame and depicted a knight slaying some kind of monster. However, there was an exception: one of the frames contained not a portrait but a passage of text._

_And there, standing in the middle of the room, was a woman. Artios immediately recognised her from the night before. Only now, she was wearing a robe of pale cream. _

_The woman then turned and smiled. _

"_Thank you Jehan" she said. "That'll be all"_

"_As you will milady" the squire answered – and with that, he closed the door, leaving Artios alone with the woman._

_The woman smiled and crossed the floor to where Artios stood._

_She then knelt down before him so her face was directly in front his own._

"_Good morning Artios" she said "Did you sleep well?"_

_Artios' blinked at the woman. Compared to the night before, she seemed in a much better state: her eyes were warm, her smile was wide and she possessed the presence that seemed highly comforting._

_Reassurance took control over Artios and words began tumbling out from his mouth:_

"…_I… I slept well ma'am"_

"_Did you find your bed comfortable?"_

"_Yes"_

"_And did the servants treat you well?"_

"_They did, ma'am"_

"_Oh please" the woman chuckled. "Call me Fluerisse"_

_Artios paused before nodding his consent. _

"_Now" she said "Tell me are you feeling well?"_

_The child blinked at the question. His eyes hardened and mouth never evolved from anything more than a frown - but he still managed a mumble:_

"_Yes"_

_The lady's brow furrowed - both in the lack of conviction the child' speech child and concern for his wellbeing. In reassurance, she reached out to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder._

"_I know this all may seem rather hard on you but believe me: You must keep on moving forward. You must keep on living. And you must do what your mother wanted you to do_

"_And that is to become a brave and powerful knight"_

_She then got to her feet and waved her hand to one of the frames – it was the one which contained the text._

"_Artios" she said "Can you read that text for me?"_

_The child's sullen gaze rose up to the frame. _

_Then, at a smooth pace and with a strength in voice sprouting since entering the room, he began to read:_

"_**The Seven Commandments of Chivalry**:_

- _To serve the Lady of the Lake_

- _To defend the domain entrusted to him_

- _To protect the weak and fight for the right_

- _Always to fight the enemies of virtue and order_

- _Never to give up the fight until the foe are defeated_

- _Never to break faith with a friend and ally_

- _Always to display honour and courtesy"_

_With the reading completed, Fluerisse than knelt down beside the child._

"_That was superb Artios" she said. "These rules are what all the knights of Bretonnia must abide to. By following those rules you will become a great and powerful knight and honour your mother's memory"_

_Artios said nothing._

_Around midday, Fluerisse paced her way up through the halls of the keep. Her brow furrowed and her mind on Artios. _

_She had formerly met the child for the first time earlier that morning in the keep gallery. However, her eye had noticed something rather unsettling within him: He seemed hardly interested with her explaining what it was to be a knight, he said nothing beyond reciting the Code of Chivalry; his eyes never met her own and his face never evolved beyond that consistently sullen expression._

_As such, Fluerisse instructed Jehan to return the child to his bed. She's never seen the child since then._

_She sighed and mentally cursed herself for a fool: It would seem that she has already been moving things far too quickly. It had been several days since he had arrived unexpectedly at this keep – but it is certainly clear that his mind must still be in a state of trauma following the horrendous event that brought him here. _

_And encouraging him to tread the path of becoming a knight at this point in time may be too much of a demand._

_Perhaps it would be better to set that goal aside for the moment….._

_Forgive me Coralie she thought. It seems your oath may have to wait awhile. At least for now…._

_She paused in her step before a window. She turned to gaze out beyond the keep. _

_His mind seems damaged. She pondered. It needs to be repaired before anything else._

_And that it shall….._

* * *

_A week later things didn't seem to improve. Artios still adopted a sullen expression, a sign that maybe the trauma was too great to bear. Fluerisse tired to work with the boy in trying to get him on the right path of becoming a knight but with little success._

_Eventually however, Jacques approached the Lady asking for permission to teaching Artios on how to use a sword. Convinced that the boy was in need of some excitement she agreed. _

_Thus, the young boy found himself outside of the keep and on the grounds before it. There, on a patch of grass used by the keep's inhabitants for training exercises, Jacques was ready to give the boy a lesson in using a sword. This was a mere practice session: both would be using wooden swords in order for Artios to get a feel for using one._

"_You know what this is?" Jacques asked._

"_It's a sword" the boy replied._

"_And do you know how to use one?" _

_Artios said nothing._

"_You don't do you?"_

_And it would seem that it was just as well he needed the experience._

_The Knight Errant and the boy stood facing each other, in front of a table where two wooden training swords lay. _

_Jacques sighed. This was going to take a while…_

"_Well the first thing I can do for you is to teach you on how to use a sword" he said, his voice one of a resigned manner. _

_The Knight Errant picked up one of the wooden swords and swung it in a huge arc. He then took several steps from the table, prompting Artios to make his move._

_The boy picked up the other wooden sword but he did not raise it higher than his hip._

"_See that sword in your hand?" Jacques said "You hold it with one hand…"_

"_I know how to hold a sword" Artios interjected._

_Jacques blinked, taken aback by the audacity of the child. He felt like slapping him for his cheek but, as Fluerisse wouldn't take too kindly to such an act, he refrained himself from doing so._

"_Is that so?" the Knight Errant challenged "Then how about you show me?"_

_And with that, he yelled a battle cry and charged towards Artios, his sword waving and his expression nothing short of intimidating._

_Artios blinked before holding his sword up in front of him, in a defensive manner._

_The wooden swords clashed against each other, each time issuing a loud crack and small chips growing in multiple directions. Yet with each time that Jacques struck, Artios kept his sword held in front of him, never wavering once._

_The Knight Errant raised an eyebrow at this and he ceased his attack._

"_Tell me" he said "Do you want to do this?"_

_The boy blinked._

"_Do you want to become a knight?"_

"_Yes I do" the boy replied._

"_Why's that?" _

"_I want to be one like my father" the boys aid "If he had been with me back on that day, he would've killed all those goblins. _

"_And my mother would still be alive"_

"_A noble intention" Jacques said "One shared by many Knight Errants._

"_But you should know that it isn't enough to defend, as you've been doing. Let me give you an example"_

_And with that he immediately thrust his wooden sword forward, heading for the child's stomach. _

_But what he happened next he didn't expect: Artios swung his wooden blade across in front of him, thus deflecting the knight's own. _

_Jacques blinked in surprise._

"_That's a good move" he noted._

_The child said nothing. _

_Jacques blinked at the child – He didn't say anything, instead he stood with the sword still in hand. His eyes were wide, his face was pale and his hands were trembling. _

_Even if it was a wooden sword, the deflecting blow dealt by him seemed to be a lucky blow. Looking at him now he seemed to regard the blade with both fear and awe. It was as if he had never even seen a sword before let alone used one. _

_As such, the Knight Errant had no idea whether or not the child had been taking in what he had been taught. But in any case, it was not a bad for a first lesson. _

"_Good move there" Jacques smiled._

_The boy looked up at him but still remained silent. _

* * *

_Later that evening, Fluerisse was busy looking through the keep library. _

_The library certainly was an impressive sight: The walls were lined with books from end to end, from the ceiling to the floor. There were hundreds and hundreds of books everywhere. They occupied every square inch of the tall bookcases. In the centre of the room there was a rich mahogany desk with an accompanying chair. _

_Fluerisse sat at the desk with a pile of books in front of her. She was looking for a text referring to the heroic deeds of Giles le Breton. It was her intention to find it so Artios will have something to read whilst he recovers. Hopefully then, he should find the necessary inspiration to become a knight._

_So far, she had found numerous books on this subject and began looking through them one by one. _

_Suddenly, a voice broke her from her thoughts:_

"_I don't want him here"_

_Fluerisse looked up – and there, standing by the door with his back leaning against the wall was her husband. _

_The lady blinked._

"_What did you say?" _

"_Aren't you hearing properly?!" Gaston snapped. "Perhaps your ears are just as clogged as your judgement!"_

"_How dare you say that!" Fluerisse shot back, rising up from her chair. _

"_I want him out of here!" the knight argued "He has no right to be in my keep! And you have no right to be keeping him here!"_

"_How can you say that?!" the lady snapped. "He's just lost his mother and you want to throw him out?!"_

"_HE'S NOT YOUR SON!!!" Gaston roared. _

_Fluerisse paused, shocked by this comeback. She then turned away from her husband._

_A tense silence hung between the husband and wife. _

_Then she began to speak, uttering each word slowly, one after the other, but each dripping with venom: _

"_I said this to you once and I'll say it to you again. I keeping Artios in this keep because I'm honouring a vow that I swore to my long-time friend. This vow shall be met by using whatever means possible. Therefore any grudges or problems you have with the child aren't of any importance at this point in time."_

_Gaston opened his mouth to argue – but he was cut off with Fluerisse flicking her head around to confront him with a facial expression that would send a Two-Headed Dragon fleeing in terror back to the Chaos Wastes. _

"_And may I make it clear" she added "That you will not lay a finger on the child when he is in my care. I suggest you remember that"_

_The knight blinked, taken aback by this sudden, restrained but altogether unsettling burst of anger from his wife. Nevertheless, he bowed his head and headed for the door. _


	14. XIV

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Fourteen

In the depths of the Chaos Wastes, Garathor's forces were on the march. His legion of Chaos Warriors of Tzeentch, the Death Dealers, had managed to capture the eye of their god. As a result, they had been summoned by Chidaq'Oerth, a greater daemon of Tzeentch to join a massive legion aimed at challenging the Dark Elves. Thus, the Death Dealers all found themselves joining many Tzeentch warbands on a march east, heading to the Watch Towers.

Garathor marched with pride at the head of his army – his heart overflowing with the euphoria of being part of this glorious legion. Now he was marching to a great battle that will no doubt bring his master's attention to him. As such, Garathor was keen to face the Dark Elves and slaughter them all in the name of Tzeentch.

Alongside the warlord of Tzeentch marched Navaak, his face sharing a same keenness as his master but elements of his stance betrayed the full alertness in his mind.

"Navaak?" Garathor inquired.

"Yes Master?" came the reply.

"Any word from Katarina?"

"Why yes, we communed only recently

"She sends you salutations and says she will join us here within a few days time"

"How did her operation go?"

"Well, it seemed to be rather successful: She managed to locate Varlak and secured an alliance where she guided him through a number of battles.

"Eventually however she abandoned him in a battle against a force of Bretonnian Knights where the necromancer met his end"

"Excellent" Garathor said "And our pawn? Artios?"

"Katarina said that he was present in the battle" Navaak replied "And whilst he didn't slay Varlak, he still managed to slay many skeletons. And survive"

Garathor paused but then he nodded.

"A success on all accounts" he said, his voice adopting a jovial tone

"Katarina seemed interested to know the next phase of our plan." Navaak inquired.

"That ultimately depends on wherever I foresee another threat emerging. A threat that could prove to quite costly to our operations. Should any turn up, we will send our friend Artios to get rid of them. If necessary, we will just direct any threats to us to Bretonnia. There, Artios will have no trouble finding them.

"I have received word that he has potential as great warrior. Therefore, we need to harness this potential so it can work for us. Thus, I have faith that he will survive many battles to come as we keep sending him foes to fight"

"A good plan" Navaak replied "But the way I see it, there are many threats in this world to our stability. For one enemy defeated, another will step up to take its place: We certainly have no shortage of people wanting our heads.

"We are disciples of Tzeentch after all…."

"I know" Garathor said "Why do you think our pawn is a Bretonnian Knight? They'll kill anything in the name of honour. And without question too"

At this the two Tzeentch sorcerers broke into peals of laughter.

The mouth of the cave was certainly a loathsome sight: It was situated within the mountain of dark rock, one with an unfathomably steep face dotted with hideous crags bursting out at random angles. The cave itself though was a hideous looking entrance leading into a mass of sinister blackness.

* * *

Artios blinked before the monstrosity before him. Then he calmly reached onto his belt and pulled out a cigar. He lit and began puffing on it as he assessed the situation.

It had been several days since he had return from the conflict at the village of Breux. No sooner than he had arrived back than he received a new assignment. He accepted without question.

But it came about in an interesting way: Sir Leon had gathered all available knights and offered them all a quest that had been brought to him. He explained the details and asked any volunteers to come forward.

Truth be told Artios wasn't paying much attention to what he said. Nor did he heed any of the mutterings emitting around him from his fellow knights. All he heard was there was a quest on offer. So he stepped forward.

Naturally, the murmurings increased. But Artios didn't care what people thought of him.

Artios' eyes narrowed as he continued puffing away – They shouldn't either. He was a Knight of Bretonnia and no one, with a head upon their shoulders, should question that.

Or else they may find themselves losing that head.

It sounds harsh but hey, no one should dare challenge the Knights of Bretonnia.

Anyway, Artios was now presented with a new challenge: Word had been received that a damsel, Lady Estelle Rossereux had been captured by a group of Skaven. This group was then sending ransom notices to Bordeleaux, demanding gold in exchange for her return.

When D'Arden learnt of this, he immediately sent Artios out on a mission – to kill this cabal of Skaven (the thought of them nestling within the kingdom of Bretonnia was repulsive enough as it is) and to return Lady Estelle.

Artios had to admit –it – this was the first time that he had been ordered to rescue a damsel. Most of his previous tasks instructed him to kill a hideous monster – which was just the way he liked it.

Still, this task involved the killing of Skaven – and that was good enough for him.

The knight then bent down and picked up his lantern. Lighting it up with his cigar, he then straightened up and glared at the blackness before him. Dropping his now burnt-out cigar, he then crushed it beneath his foot and advanced into the darkness.

"Let's go kill some bastards" he grinned evilly.

He strode into the cave, his eyes blinking as they adjusted to the light. Immediately, the light from the lantern illuminated the darkened cave, revealing a rough cut passageway disappearing into the darkness.

Suddenly he heard a noise. Driven on a well-forged battle instinct Artios drew his sword in one dramatic flourish. He grinned evilly as he set the lantern down on the rocky floor of the passageway, his senses twitching in eagerness of the battle to come.

Then, in an instant a trio of ratmen burst into view. They wore crude armour, carried wicked halberds and boasted black fur, thus betraying their status as Stormvermin.

They paused before the knight, as if unexpected to see a human enter their lair.

Artios' grin grew even wider – and more malevolent.

"Okay then" he growled "Who wants to die first? Come on! I don't have all day!"

With a squeal of rage, the three Stormvermin charged.

* * *

Some time later, Artios wandered deeper and deeper into the Skaven's lair, his sword resting upon his shoulder. This, so far, was certainly proving to be an interesting adventure. So far, he had been challenged by several Stormvermin and some Clanrats as well. He was even fortunate enough to encounter a group of Plague Monks! And whilst it was a pleasure to confront one of those revolting Ratmen (hey, an opportunity of facing a new opponent is welcome any time), it was a greater pleasure to put them out of his misery.

He had to give D'Arden credit – he certainly knows how to find some great quests to do. Hell – who cares if Estelle is dead already? The pleasure of slaying some Skaven was good enough for him!

Just then, emerging from the darkness was a door. Smiling with the utmost confidence, Artios brought an armoured foot up and into it. The force of the kick was so strong, it sent the door flying off its hinges.

Peering into the doorway Artios could see, within the illumination provided by the lantern, a full room. It had a strange floor, coloured blue and covered with bizarre sigils. An unnatural scent filled the air, warning Artios' hardened mind of the possible presence of a magic–user. In the center of a room stood a table, containing a bizarre selection of beakers filled with unidentifiable liquid, charts covered with bizarre writings and some other elements, such as some oddly shaped rocks and several types of amulets, which Artios didn't recognise.

Standing in front of the desk however was something that Artios did recognise: It was another Skaven – but this one looked different than the others encountered before. His fur was white, he was dressed in shabby robes and he clutched a tall staff.

Artios' eyes hardened – a warlock.

"Hello there" Artios sneered "Hope I'm interrupting something"

The warlock squealed in terror at the knight that towered above him. Artios, however, seemed unfazed at this outburst:

"I take you're the one in charge here, right?"

He had no idea if the warlock could understand him but he continued anyway:

"It seems to me that you are profaning the lands that belong to the Lady of the Lake. And being a defender of Her name, I simply can't let abominations like your self run around and do what you please"

"But in any case" he added. "I hate to tell you this but your guards didn't seem willing to let me in. So I had to kill them all. Hope you don't mind"

The warlock started nibbling his tail, the intimidation written all over his face.

"Anyway, I guess that leaves you" he grinned evilly. "But hey, you should be grateful: I'm sending you on a one way trip to meet the Great Horned Rat!"

Artios strode imposingly towards the warlock. But the warlock suddenly stopped quavering – he then lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, the room was penetrated with the sound of a ferocious growl. Then, from out of the shadows emerged a huge form of fur, flesh and muscle. A huge, ugly face, sporting deformed teeth and dirty whiskers approached the two combatants, bringing with a bad breath the reeked with the stench of warpstone. An evil gaze that showed little intelligence but plenty of homicidal intent blazed at Artios.

But the knight seemed hardly bothered with being confronted by the Rat Ogre. Instead his eyes seemed to sparkle.

"You may want to excuse me" Artios said to the warlock "I have something bigger to kill!"

The Rat Ogre bellowed a challenge and stormed forward, its mighty fists raised in readiness to break the knight. But Artios showed no fear whatsoever. Instead, he merely side-stepped out of the Rat Ogre's way. Gripping his mighty sword tightly, Artios then drove his sword towards the Rat Ogre. The sword penetrated the Rat Ogre's flesh and plunged deep, spraying black blood.

Snarling at this fresh wound, the Rat Ogre raised its fists and delivered a terrific blow across the knight's helmet. Artios rolled with the punch and fell away from the Rat Ogre. But, in spite of the blow, the knight still managed to keep on his feet. Gripping the only thing he could use at the moment, his shield, he charged at the Rat Ogre. Using all the might he could muster, Artios rammed his shield right into the stomach of the Rat Ogre. He did so with such force that the monster lost its balance and tumbled several steps backwards and into the wall behind hit.

Artios wasn't as fortunate – he was still missing his sword and he had invested so much strength into the charge that he too had lost his balance. He tumbled down, falling flat onto his face.

But there was no time for a breather. For at that moment, his ears suddenly caught the sound of words. Words that were unintelligible but being delivered in the unmistakable sound of a chant.

Getting up off the floor, Artios flicked his head around to see the warlock muttering to himself. In his hands, a small ball of magical power began to evolve.

The knight cursed. This wasn't good – he was being confronted by a spell-caster and here he was without a weapon!

The ball of power began to grow larger by the second – Underneath his helmet, Artios' face hardened. He would have to act quickly if he was going to avoid the possibility of being immolated by a potentially destructive spell – or worse.

Suddenly, he smiled an evil smile. Then, in one quick movement, he got to his feet and charged for the warlock, his shield displayed out front.

Running against the time of the spell evolving, Artios charged straight for the warlock. He charged blind, caring little as to whether he could see the warlock but only for the possibility of this plan working.

Then, with a colossal thud, he felt the shield gain weight. Bright lights began emitting constantly from the other side of the shield but Artios still didn't cease his pace. He carried on, even when his eardrums were roaring with the sound of magical energies being pulled together accompanied by a high-pitched screeching.

"Just keep up with the noise" Artios murmured. "It shouldn't be too long now"

Suddenly, Artios felt his charge come into contact with some thick and solid. He grinned evilly - Just as he intended. He had managed to reach one of the walls the made up this room.

The warlock's squealing grew louder and louder, but Artios kept applying all his strength into his shield. The lights grew brighter and the magical energies crackled without any sense of control, but Artios didn't bat an eyelid.

Eventually, a huge explosion, resounded from behind the shield. The shield itself must have been faced with such an incredible force for it shuddered in a horrifically violent manner. Artios gritted his teeth, but still retained his grip on his indefatigable shield. Magical energy and lights still blazed, only now stronger than ever, but the squealing had come to standstill.

Eventually the light and noise gradually came to a halt. Artios then felt his shield cease shuddering. Smiling with satisfaction, he lowered it – to see the charred form of the warlock tumble to the floor. Having been caught in between the shield and the wall, and with little room to cast his spell properly, the warlock had therefore been incinerated by his own magic prowess.

Artios stepped back, to allow the warlock fall to the floor. Then he raised an eyebrow. His eyes had detected the sight of the slightest movement – as well as the faint sound of coughing and spluttering. Then he noticed the warlock's eyes were still open and still exhibiting a spark of life. He could also see a sense of movement within the claw that was the warlock's hand.

Somehow the warlock had managed to survive this attack. Although he had been incinerated with the full blast of his own spell he could still manage the smallest of movements. Artios had to give him credit: If he could still move than he had to be one tough Skaven.

But in the end such credit was irrelevant: he was still a Skaven after all.

Without warning, Artios brought an armour-plated foot down upon the Skaven's neck. He smiled as he heard the small crack of a windpipe being crushed.

"You may be a warlock" the knight sneered "But I can't have you interfering with my own battles now, can I?

"Particularly with such dishonourable methods such as magic…."

Suddenly a bestial roar brought Artios' gaze flickering over his shoulder. Stomping it's way towards him was the Rat Ogre. Its expression was nothing short of furious and it bore down upon the knight with an intention that spoke volumes of homicidal intent.

But Artios didn't seem too bothered.

"I'm sorry" he mocked "Did I kill your master?"

The Rat Ogre roared it's outrage at the knight and brought massive fist towards him. Anticipating such a move, Artios ducked out of the way so the fist sailed over his head. He then delivered a blow of his own – a vicious uppercut that slammed its way into the Rat Ogre's jaw. The creature grunted with the pain and immediately retaliated – in the form of grasping its two monstrous hands together and slamming down into the knight's cranium.

The force of the blow was incredible to say the least and Artios went down – but there was no time to feel dazed for the Rat Ogre then followed this move up by ramming a strong knee into the knight's chest. Artios was then sent off his feet and across the room, before slamming into the wall on the other side. He groaned as the pain of the impact careered through his body and as his form slid down the wall.

But there was no time to feel the pain: for the Rat Ogre wasn't anywhere finished with him: It came storming over and reached for the knight with an enormous ugly hand. Picking up the knight by his helmet, the Rat Ogre brought him up off the ground and toward his own face. Artios could feel the hot breath emitting from the monstrosities jaw and the beady eyes that glared with pure hatred. It made him wonder: Considering it's size and minimal intelligence did the Rat Ogre consider himself yet another nameless foe or did it really want him dead of hatred for killing its master?

But then again, since when has the prospect of making yet another enemy ever been that much of a bother?

"Hey ugly" Artios sneered from beneath his helmet. "Mind keeping your breath out of my face? I can smell the warpstone within your stomach and it certainly reeks!"

He couldn't tell whether or not the Rat Ogre exactly understood the words that he was saying but, if the enormous roar that followed was anything to go by, it seemed that it caught onto his taunt. The uppercut to the stomach that came afterwards was also a fair indication.

But Artios wasn't ready to take this lying down: Although the blow struck hard, he wasn't too keen on dying here. Particularly at the hands of an oafish foe such as this one.

Despite the pain still resonating from his injuries, the knight immediately struck out with an armoured foot, one that smashed its way as a kick - into the Rat Ogre's face. The steel caps managed to crash into the Rat Ogre's face, penetrating flesh and delivering the distinctive crack of breaking bone. This was enough to make the Rat Ogre drop the knight as he reeled in pain. Landing on his feet, ere inches from the Rat Ogre's enormous chest, Artios' keen eyes then noticed a familiar sight: It was his sword, still embedded within the monstrosity's flesh. With a roar, Artios' hand rushed for the sword, driving it deeper into the Rat Ogre's chest. This issued another roar of pain from the Rat Ogre, who then, in an act of revenge, brought his fist down onto the knight's shoulder. This blow was the strongest of all – it managed to shatter not only the knight's armour and penetrate it's way deep into Artios' flesh.

Artios grimaced with the pain as the Rat Ogre bellowed both its defiance and outrage.

But then, the room fell silent – for the message had reached the Rat Ogre's brain that to deliver the information that it was dead.

The roar within the Rat Ogre's throat quickly died down into a whimper. Immediately sensing danger, Artios reached in, retrieved his sword from the Rat Ogre's stomach before quickly diving out of the way. Then, with an incredible force of movement and muscle, the monstrosity came tumbling down – to crash onto the cold stone floor of the room.

Pausing to catch his breath, Artios surveyed his handiwork: The charred form of the warlock and the enormous corpse of the Rat Ogre. Both represented the last of the Skaven whom settled here in this cave network. He had killed every one of the ratmen that he encountered on his way here. Of course, there may have been some others who may have eluded his gaze on the way here but with the death of their leader it seems doubtful that this group of Skaven will rise again.

Besides, once he locates Lady Estelle, this group will lose further motivation to continue with their insidious plans.

The wound on his shoulder still throbbed but he wasn't too bothered with it at the moment.

The only question that was circulating in his mind was the whereabouts of this Lady Estelle…

Looking around, the knight saw a small door nestled within one of the walls. He hadn't noticed when he first entered the room but it seemed to best lead he had of finding the woman…..

Although his shoulder still throbbed, Artios strode over to the door and tried the handle – he wasn't surprised to find it locked.

With a grunt, he then brought his foot up off the ground and thrust it forth in a kick. The armoured foot hit the door with so much force that he sent it flying off its hinges and into the darkness of the room beyond.

With lantern in hand, the knight peered into the room.

It wasn't much of a room – It was circular in shape and consisted of a dust-covered floor, dirty walls and little furniture save for a pile of straw in the corner. There wasn't much too space to move about in – it was more than likely that could've fit no fewer than three human-sized people.

And there, in the middle of the floor was the shape of a human - no doubt the Lady Estelle that Artios had been instructed to rescue. She was dressed in a shabby robe that may have been white in another life – Only now it was stained with the dirt and dust from inside this cell. Her hands and ankles were confined due to currently being tied up completely, but both bore signs of being tainted with the dirt within the cell. And even though her face was concealed from the knight's view it was obvious that her mouth was gagged.

Obviously, she had been stuck here for a while….

And at the moment, she didn't see aware of his presence.

Yet.

Artios removed his helmet and lowered his sword.

Why did he have to rescue this woman? Sure killing the Skaven was satisfactory enough but for some reason D'Arden specifically selected him for this task.

If the woman's appearance was anything to go by, she had been down here for a while – and considering that there are many knights within Bretonnia who could've easily accomplished this task, it made Artios wonder why no had already bothered.

Something isn't right here……

Just then, the woman looked up, obviously drawn to the presence of the lantern. Her eyes widened at the sight of Artios. Immediately her eyes began sparkling with a mixture of hope and awe.

Artios sighed. Bretonnian women certainly had the eyes for the knights….

May as well get this over and done with….

He knelt down beside the prostrate form.

"Are you Lady Estelle?" he inquired.

The woman nodded amidst many muffled sounds from behind her gag.

"I'm here to rescue you"

Reaching into his belt, Artios drew a small dagger from its sheath – he then used it to slash apart the woman's bonds. He then reached forward and undid the gag that restricted her power of speech.

Once her mouth was free, words began flowing out from Estelle's mouth:

"Well, hello there Sir Knight" she said

Her voice was soft and melodic – it reminded Artios of a nightingale's song….

But the thought of this made his brow furrow. What type of numbskull would think up nonsense like that?! An Elf?!

Estelle got to her feet and dusted herself off.

"Are all of the Skaven dead?"

"Yes" Artios nodded. "I took care of them myself"

Estelle blinked.

"Well you have my thanks" she smiled.

The knight said nothing.

The lady blinked

"Oh my!" she said suddenly, eyeing his shoulder "That looks hideous!"

"I can imagine it does" Artios muttered.

But Estelle didn't seem to pay any attention to such remarks. Instead, she immediately hitched up her dress and began tearing at it.

"Please allow me to help you"

Once she'd torn off a reasonable portion of cloth from off her dress, Estelle then moved towards the Knight. She then proceeded to wrapping the cloth around the Knight's injured shoulder.

Never once did the Knight flinch.

"There you are!" the woman smiled "It was the least I could do seeing as you came here to save me"

Artios remained silent.

When she got no reply, Estelle's face suddenly fell into a frown.

"Well, you're obviously not the talkative type" she said

The knight still said nothing.

However, Estelle's smile quickly retuned.

"But seeing as I owe my life I'll overlook this discretion…"

"Are you able to walk?" Artios asked.

"Why yes"

"Well come on then. We should be leaving this place"

And with that he turned for the door.

Estelle blinked.

But then, her eyes narrowed. She immediately cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry but I don't believe you told me your name" she said

The knight halted but he didn't turn his gaze around.

"I am Etienne Armand"

And with that he stepped out of the room.

To this the lady blinked in astonishment, But then she began chuckling to herself.

Well, this certainly was an interesting character….

And he could be just the thing that she needed….


	15. XV

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Fifteen

Artios strode back into the warlock's laboratory.

He paused, his eyes hardening. He could sense danger. And it was close by….

Just then, Estelle wandered into the room.

"So then" she smiled "In which direction is the way out of here?"

Artios opened his mouth to reply.

But before he could so, a soft growl came drifting into the room.

The knight's battle-hardened senses immediately jolted into action: He flicked over his shoulder.

And then he saw it: A second Rat Ogre emerging out from the darkness to loom above both the knight and the lady.

Estelle blinked.

"Oh my" she said "He's certainly a hideous one"

"It seems there's still some Skaven lurking within here" The knight muttered.

"Stand back!" he said to Estelle "I'll handle this!"

"You would?" the lady said in astonishment.

"Of course!" the knight replied. "I was sent here to rescue you and that's what I'm going to do!"

And with that he charged to confront the Rat Ogre. Swinging his mighty broadsword in a huge arc, Artios drove it into the monster's flesh, sprouting black blood. The Rat Ogre screamed with pain and dealt out an act of retaliation – in the form of vicious blow right into the knight's chest. Such was the force of the blow that Artios was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling.

But the Rat Ogre turned away from him – instead it's attention was then directed at Estelle. The lady's eyes widened with alarm and quickly began darting around the room. Looking for some kind of weapon, something – anything! – she could use as a weapon to defend herself with.

But in amongst the light offered by Artios' lantern no such thing could be seen.

The Rat Ogre loomed above Estelle, a brutal fist raised above it's head. The monster delivered a lethal blow but the lady was too quick: She dived right out of the way. She hit the floor and rolled out of the way.

"Etienne!" she exclaimed.

Upon hearing this, the knight got up off his back. Picking up his discarded sword from where it lay next to his prostrate form, Artios got to his feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" he shouted at the Rat Ogre.

Upon hearing this, the monster turned his attention back to the knight.

"I can't let you touch her" Artios growled, his feet already on the advance "I was ordered here to rescue her and I'm certainly going to let anyone get in my way

"And certainly not by the likes of you"

The Rat Ogre responded to this by roaring a roar of utter contempt for the knight. Immediately, it turned around and charged straight for him. But Artios wasn't in any way prepared to give any ground for the monstrosity. With gritted teeth and eyes unflinching, he gripped his blade with both hands. Then, as the Rat Ogre loomed perilously close to the knight, Artios drove his well-used blade into the Rat Ogre's cranium. The sharpened steel smashed its way past the bone and plunged it's way deep into the monster's brain.

The Rat Ogre roared with pain.

Until it realised it was dead.

Withdrawing his blade Artios allowed the monster to topple forward and fall onto it's face. The knight paused before his ears detected the sound of two hands clapping together.

He looked up and, to his annoyance, he found it was Estelle. Her smile was wider than ever and her eyes sparkled with admiration.

"You saved my life!" she said "Thank you!"

Artios looked at her long and hard before turning away.

"Don't mention it"

* * *

Artios strode out of the cave and into the afternoon sun, carrying Estelle in his arms.

The journey back through the entrance was uneventful: None of the Skaven dared to raise their face to challenge him, thus confirming that they were all dead – and if there were any survivors, they had since fled.

Whilst in the way back, Estelle had certainly proven to be talkative companion. She seemed quite delighted with the prospect of being finally rescued (after all, anyone in her shoes would), but Artios theorised that she more likely in a state of shock for being incarcerated for so long.

Whatever her reasons for being talkative, this however didn't suit Artios at all. Currently he wasn't feeling in a talkative mood. As far as he was concerned he had rescued the woman. End of story. Now all he had to do was return her to her family and that would be end of it.

But now that he thought about, it, why the hell was he carrying her like this?! This was the type of thing that the Bretonnian knights did to ladies which they had been married to! This wasn't the type of thing he himself would do!

The seventh commandment of Chivalry flashed in his mind:

"Always to display honour and courtesy"

Artios' brow furrowed but he knew better than to complain.

Now that they were both in the sunlight, the knight was able to see Estelle's features completely.

And even Artios had to admit that she was certainly had a striking appearance: She had dark hair, with auburn tips, drifting down past her shoulders. Her green eyes (which currently weren't very interested in what was going on around her) sparkle with intelligence and her lips are a perfect red. Her body is slender and her skin is like fine porcelain……

The knight closed his eyes. What the hell is with these thoughts?! He has neither the time nor patience for this! If anything, the sooner he gets rid of this woman the better!

Poets and Elves are the type of fools who think such things. Not warriors.

But then it occurred to him: Even as much as he would like to get rid of this woman, he can't: he can't really let her go because his principles: It wasn't just the Code of Chivalry but his own steadfast refusal to leave any task unfinished or in failure.

Artios cleared his throat.

"Well here we are" he said

Estelle didn't reply – instead her eyes squinted from the sunshine.

The knight moved away from the mountain and towards the nearest patch of grass. Once there he knelt down, so Estelle can find her feet.

The lady smiled.

"You know" she said "I was down there for so long I was beginning that no one would come and rescue me!"

Artios sighed, remaining kneeling before her.

"I was informed by my superior that you needed rescuing and I merely obliged"

Estelle smiled.

"Sir Etienne, I am certainly grateful that you came and defeated all those Skaven for me…."

"Don't mention it" the knight said.

"But now" he went on "My task isn't over yet: Now that I have rescued you, it is my duty to escort you to wherever you want to go"

He mentally cursed – he couldn't believe he was saying this type of thing…..

But no matter what he thought, his face didn't show any signs of revealing such secrets. As such, Estelle continued smiling warmly.

"Well, that's noble of you…"

"And my understanding is that you came from the village of Bregonne"

Immediately, the lady's eyes widened.

"Bregonne?" she echoed.

"Is that a problem?" the knight said.

Estelle blinked but then she regained her composure.

"No!" she said "No, not at all"

"Then that's where we're going"

* * *

"So tell me Sir Etienne" the lady inquired "Have you fought in many battles?"

Artios' brow furrowed. This was certainly turning into an ordeal of exasperating proportions.

Unfortunately, Estelle didn't wait for a reply. Instead she shot off with another question.

"Have you battled many monsters?"

"Have you ever considered doing the Grail Quest?"

"I bet you've slain enormous dragons!"

Since leaving the Skaven hideout Artios and Estelle had been making their way across the Bretonnian countryside, towards the village of Bregonne. He made his way on foot whilst leading Estelle who rode on Artios' horse.

"Have you met any of the Wood Elves in Athel Loren?"

"How did you manage to obtain your spurs?"

Prior to setting out on this quest, Artios did all of the research necessary. As such, he knew the exact location of Bregonne and he had calculated the best route to it from the Skaven hideout.

But one thing he didn't count on was Estelle being unusually talkative.

"You're certainly not one for conversation are you?" the lady said.

"I came to rescue you and that's what I'll do" came the rather blunt reply

To this, Estelle burst out laughing.

"Oh my" she said, in between giggles "You certainly are a shocking character!"

"Tell me" Artios said sharply "Why did those Skaven imprison you?"

To this, the lady's smile vanished.

"What do you mean?"

"What did they want from you? Gold for ransom? Revenge?"

Suddenly Estelle's smile returned.

"Oh ransom I'd think" she answered "No idea why they'd bothered"

To this Artios raised an eyebrow

"You're certainly far from bothered about being a prisoner of those foul ratmen"

"Ah well" Estelle smiled ""

Artios mentally cursed. Great, this was certainly turning out to be a loathsome prospect: Sent out to rescue someone who doesn't seem to be taking any concept of danger seriously.

It seems he was right for possessing such initial disgust for this mission.

Dammit, what was Leon thinking?!

"So tell me" Estelle went on "You're going to escort me all the way to Bregonne?"

"Yes"

"So you'll be defending me from any monsters that may challenge us?"

"Yes"

Estelle could sense that the knight wasn't really keen on being talkative but, in spite of him being monosyllabic, she continued on.

"So that would really make you my guardian, right?"

"Yes"

"Excellent!" Estelle beamed.

Upon hearing this, Artios cast a wary eye up in the lady's direction.

Estelle merely responded by clasping her hands and bowing her head in a reverential manner.

"I will consider it a great honour for you to be my guardian"

Artios paused, gazing at the lady with a hardened gaze.

Then he turned and continued on his way.

Estelle blinked but then shrugged.

"Do you think those ratmen will continue in coming after you?" the knight inquired.

"It's possible" the lady answered.

With that last comment, Artios' ears could pick up a slight sense of enthusiasm in her voice.

Seems she'll relish any opportunity for conservation.

Whether he likes it or not.

"But I see no reason to worry" she grinned "It's not that I have any money or anything!"

Artios' brow furrowed with suspicion. It would seem the more time he spent with this unusually cheerful companion, the more it becomes clear that something is terribly out of place…

"If what you told me is correct" the knight said slowly "Then those Skaven came after you with the intention of holding you for ransom"

Estelle blinked.

Artios immediately could sense a drop in her defences. So he moved in for the kill.

"But if you have no money than who would pay to bring you back?"

"…..I…I…" the lady stammered "…the people of Bregonne!"

And for a second time Artios stopped in his tracks. The horse too came to a halt as the knight paused in contemplation of this answer.

He looked up at the lady. She responded by meeting his gaze directly, her face etched with calmness and her eyes showing some sense of sincerity.

The knight gazed up at her in a studious manner.

Estelle merely remained silent whilst maintaining her serious expression.

Then Artios cleared his throat.

"Very well then"

And with that he continued on his way, continuing on his route of leading the horse.

The lady paused for a few moments but then she chuckled.

"You know, now that I think about it, I guess it isn't impossible for those ratmen to come after me a second time. After all they may still be needing the money!"

The knight merely smiled a sinister smile. Now it would seem that he has acquired all the information he needed.

* * *

Artios stood in a clearing, in the middle of a forest. The past half hour had been spent climbing through a mountainous area wherein the village of Bregonne is meant to be. According to his calculations, the village itself should be near….

He looked up at sky. The sun had already begun it's descent from the sky and was halfway out of sight. The day was coming to an end.

The knight let out a sigh.

This day had certainly proven to be a busy one.

He then began polishing his blade clean of goblin blood.

Artios looked around at the ground beneath his feet – all around were the broken bodies of several goblins, their crude weapons shattered, their ragged clothes stained with blood and their small frames shattered beyond repair.

As the knight carried on with his polishing, his mind fell into deep contemplation.

Prior to leaving Bordeleaux, he had taken time to calculate the best route to Bregonne. As protecting the lady was a priority, he had worked out the quickest route as well as taking into account any of the areas which were known for holding residence to any monsters.

So far, the planning had yielded the desired results. The journey back had certainly proven uneventful – in fact, this goblin attack was the only incident.

But to be honest if Artios knew that Lady Estelle was going to this talkative, he would've crafted a route that would've brought him to more enemies to fight.

He looked up at the lady. She was still on the horse, situated at the edge of the clearing, well away from the goblin corpses.

"Are they all dead?" she asked

Artios raised an eyebrow. This wasn't the first time she had seen him fighting a battle – but, like all the previous times, she didn't seem at all frightened by the atrocities she bore witness to.

Estelle motioned towards the horse and it began moving towards the knight.

The knight paid no attention to her approach for wiping the sweat from his brow.

"It seems that I am in your debt again" she smiled.

Artios said nothing. Regardless Estelle continued:

"If only I could think of any way to repay you…"

"There's no need" the knight said "I was charged with the mission of bringing you back to your village and that's what I'll do. Once there, you can do what you like"

He then turned towards the direction of the setting sun.

"According to my calculations, we should be nearing the first sight of Bregonne…"

And so he gathered the horse's reigns in his hands and carried on with leading the way.

But with his back to Estelle, he was unable to see her ever-present smile now vanished from her face….

* * *

The knight and the lady stood on the top of the hill. Down below laid a wide valley – one which held residence to a settlement. It consisted of a small stone keep, numerous fields of farmland and several thatched buildings, each with a chimney producing out plenty of smoke. All of this was contained within a wooden stockade.

Artios turned to Estelle.

"Bregonne" he declared "We've arrived"

"There really isn't that much of a rush is there?" the lady inquired.

Upon hearing this, the knight cast an inquisitive gaze at the lady with an eyebrow raised. Her face was wrought with an expression of nervousness. Her lips had dropped her seemingly permanent smile and her eyes were radiating with alarm. Every feature in Estelle's facial expression bore a sense of unease

And in addition, her voice possessed a great deal of urgency – all of which amounting to signs that she wasn't exactly keen to return to her village.

Something wasn't exactly right here. She seemed hardly bothered with being kidnapped; she appeared to be unafraid with being confronted with him killing all the monsters that dared confront them and now it has become clear that she is particularly frightened with the idea of returning to Bregonne.

Artios pondered on these revelations. Something about them didn't seem to connect in any way.

But then he shook his head.

"Come on" he announced "We're going"

"Are you serious?!' Estelle exclaimed.

"You don't really want to go down there do you?"

The lady paused blinking repeatedly. Her fingers twitched in an tense manner. She gazed at the knight in an uneasy manner.

However this was only temporary: It didn't take long before she somehow managed to retain her composure. Immediately her already distinctive smile returned and any sense of apprehension seemed to vanish.

"What are you talking about?" she said to the knight "Bregonne is where I was born and raised. It is the only home I know. Of course I wish to be escorted there"

There it was: an affirmative response. But it was far from the most convincing one Artios had ever heard.

But regardless of this conclusion it did provide some sense of satisfaction. So the knight carried on with leading the horse down the hill.

Within moments, they had entered the valley and were advanced towards the village.

They had only come within several metres of the village when events took a nasty turn.

In the form of several arrows, coming hurtling from the sky.


	16. XVI

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Sixteen

The arrows struck the ground before the two travellers.

Artios immediately halted, a look of alarm written across his face. He rested a hand on the horse's snout in attempt to clam it.

He then cast an accusing look at Estelle.

"You knew this was going to happen didn't you?"

The lady said nothing.

Just then, the knight noticed a large number of peasants emerge from behind the stockade. They were gathered in a large mass and were advancing upon the two new arrivals.

As they grew closer, Artios noticed they were all bearing various weapons, tools and farming implements as well as the most unwelcome of facial expressions.

Naturally, the most unlikely of welcoming committees only furthered the suspicions of the Knight.

"Friends of yours?" Artios inquired

"I wouldn't go so far to say that" Estelle murmured.

The knight's brow furrowed. Seeking some answers, he advanced towards the mob.

"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted at them "Where is the lord of this village?!"

This immediately stopped the mob dead in their tracks. Then one villager stood out from the rest.

"We don't have one!" he shouted back.

Artios blinked. This wasn't sounding very pleasing.

"Where is Sir Rossereux?"

"He's dead!" snapped a voice in the mob.

The knight raised an eyebrow.

"Dead?" he echoed

"We killed him ourselves!" yelled the spokesman with glee.

Immediately, the rest of the villagers roared with approval.

"Explain yourself!" Artios growled

"Sir Rossereux treated us poorly for years!" the head villager answered.

"He cheated money out of us!" said a voice in the crowd.

"He issued the most brutal of punishments!" said another voice.

"He lived in luxury whilst we were starving!" said a third.

"So we decided to revolt!" a fourth peasant added"

"We stormed into his keep and killed the bastard without any mercy!" put in the second peasant.

"And with our freedom, we've destroyed any trace of the Sir Rossereux's memory!" declared the fourth peasant.

"Which is why" the head villager declared, pointing a grubby finger in Estelle's direction "We're not letting her anywhere near us"

Artios felt like running the cheeky bastard through. But, rather than run the risk of endangering the life of the lady he was sent to rescue, he refrained from doing so.

In fact now, all the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. Everything made sense now: the lack of enthusiasm to rescue Estelle, the ominous absence of fear that she seemed to possess, the fact she seemed delighted to be protected by him and the odd fact she seemed less than willing to return to her village home.

"So who's in charge of this village?" he then asked.

"No one!" the village spokesman declared.

"You need a knight here for this village" Artios said sternly "To protect it from invaders and to keep you rabble under control.

"I'll send word to my superiors and have a knight sent here"

"You do what you like" the head villager said "Just don't try and bring her back in here!"

The knight cast a quick glance at Estelle. This entire time she had remained quiet, her gaze kept low.

She had been leading him on….

Artios then shook his head and drew his sword. After piercing the evening air with in three quick cuts, he then advanced towards the mob. Artios marched right up to the head villager, the knight's eyes locked in a ruthless glare at him.

Although the prospect of being confronted with a heavily armoured knight sporting a huge broadsword would've sent a normal man into a state of panic, this man showed no signs of fear. He merely looked up at Artios with a gaze of utter defiance. The knight glared at him with eyes that blazed with little feeling.

"Very well then" he said slowly.

Artios turned to go.

But then, without warning, he suddenly turned around and struck the head villager with a blow across the face.

Struck by the sheer force of Artios' punch, not to mention the gauntlet it came within, the villager feel down to the ground with an incredible crash.

The rest of the villagers blinked in horror, but it didn't take them long for them to grip their weapons tightly.

Artios studied the mob. None of them seemed to show any sign of fear nor did they seem to show any sign of acknowledgement towards the authority inspired by his knightly status.

The fools.

Calmly, he reached for his belt and pulled out a cigar.

What followed was the most nastiest, most tense silence ever imaginable. It was one which Artios spent lighting up his cigar and taking a puff.

He then looked up at the mob of peasants, each and every one of them looking all too ready to crack his head wide open.

"Such disrespect to a lady is something that will never go unpunished" the knight said.

The crowd began rumbling with outrage. Some of the pesants even took a number of brave steps forward, weapons at the ready. None didn't get anywhere far: For all were held in check through Artios blazing his cold, intimidating glare.

This was the glare of someone who had slain a large number of both people and beasts – for someone so young. It was the glare of someone who knew no fear and would kill someone without a second thought.

Finished with his cigar, the knight turned around and dropped it next to the prostate form of the head villager, still moaning with pain. The knight then returned to where his horse and Estelle still stood.

No one dared to challenge him. Instead, the rest of the villager ungathered around their fallen comrade and slowly began retreating behind the safety of their village walls.

Not that the knight paid any attention. His gaze was direct elsewhere: it was aimed at the lady he had fought so hard to defend.

Estelle kept her head down. She didn't bother to look the knight nor did she show any sign of acknowledging his approach.

Artios was seething. This was unbelievable. He had risked his life to save this woman, even when no one else would, but all the good it did him was reveal that she was a pariah. And all he got in return was a big fat rejection.

So what was he going to do with her now?

What could he do? He had vowed to save her life so he would defend her until his quest is completed.

But his quest had arrived to an unexpected end.

And he can't just leave her on her own – that type of thing isn't approved by the Code of Chivalry.

Artios walked up to his horse and grasped the reigns.

He looked up Estelle.

She didn't seem to pay any attention whatsoever to him: Her head was bowed, her eyes were closed and her face was wrought with the most melancholic expression.

The knight raised an eyebrow. He had, so far, never seen her look so unhappy.

But then he shrugged.

"Let's go" he said softly.

And with that he began leading the horse away from the village of Bregonne.

* * *

For a while the journey was a very grim affair. Both walked in silence, the memory of the disastrous events at Bregonne still quite fresh in each other's memory. Both knew that Estelle really had no place left to go and both pondered on what Artios would do.

Eventually, the sky had grown even darker: the sun had disappeared completely out of sight and all natural light was fading rapidly.

But not that Estelle noticed: She kept her gaze away from the knight, the burden of shame resting quite firmly on her shoulders. Her secret was out – she was a lady no one wanted and, as such, she had been using him to protect her from the various dangers that threatened her (of which there were plentiful).

Perhaps she could consider herself lucky: So far he had shown no intention of abandoning her or taking some sort of revenge but no one ever takes too kindly to being duped.

In any case she shouldn't be quiet: Breaking her silence may have it's risks but she has been brave in the past and now was hardly the time to stop.

"I did try to warn you about retuning to Bregonne"

The knight didn't seem to pay any attention – instead he carried on with walking, his gaze aimed straight ahead.

Eventually however, he did speak: "Was what they said true?"

Upon hearing this Estelle suddenly felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

"About what?' she asked.

"About your father" Artios replied "They said he was a bad man who treated them poorly and who punished them quite brutally"

Estelle did issue a reply to this but it was in a speech that flattered with each passing word:

"My father…He…. was a good… man…. He looked…. After …. Me"

To this Artios turned around, his brow furrowed.

"I know something happened at that village" he said "I want you to tell me what it was

"In your own words"

Estelle blinked at him. But then she slowly nodded. If he was going to be defending her then they should establish some bond of trust.

"My father, Francois Rossereux, had always been the knight presiding over Bregonne as far back as I can remember. I remember one day he was asked by a group of knights to join them in an expedition southwards to the Undead lands in Khemri.

"He accepted of course but he was only gone for about a week. What was strange was that Father returned alone. He also seemed changed in that his face was pale, he spoke little and his eyes seemed to be in a state of shock."

Artios frowned. He could recognise cowardice a mile away…

"But ever since his return, Father changed completely" Estelle continued "He became increasingly worried, and he seemed to get upset of the smallest of things. Father even forbade me from ever leaving the keep.

"As such I had no idea what was happening in the outside world"

The knight listened intently, his ears picking up every word. The more he heard of the lady's story, the more thoughtful his expression grew.

"I eventually began to grow aware that father seemed distressed about the thought of his role of being the village knight being challenged" Estelle went on "He seemed to cut off all contact with the outside word, he never once set foot outside of the keep, he spent a large amount of time cursing the peasants and he spent so much time devising the most insidious punishments.

"But at the time, I had no idea that he would eventually use such plans on anyone else!"

"Continue"

Estelle blinked at the knight's blunt manner but only briefly.

"Anyway several months ago, father received a letter. I don't know how the letter had managed to find him nor how it managed to get through into the keep but it did.

"Father read the letter and flew into a fit of rage. He was screaming and cursing as loudly as possible and kicked up a terrible tantrum"

"What did the letter say?"

"I did manage to see the letter – It was an invite from an old friend that asked him to join a group of knights setting out on the Grail Quest. The group was all made up of Father's old comrades and they were expecting him to join on the Quest as all knights eventually should."

"And I take it he didn't?"

Estelle nodded "Yes, he had an offer and a motivation but somehow he seemed compelled to stay.

"And he did. But his behaviour got worse. The rate of punishments he issued seemed to increase, his shouting got louder, his destructive behaviour grew even more erratic and I even heard that not a day went by without a peasant being executed."

"You heard these rumours" Artios said "What did you think of them?"

"I heard them but I never thought of finding out if there was a grain of truth behind them" Estelle explained "But father told me never to leave the keep. He said it was dangerous outside and he did this because he loved me"

At the mention of this, Artios raised an eyebrow.

"He said that he didn't want me to get hurt. He wanted to keep me safe. He didn't want me to get killed by many of the horrific dangers that lurked throughout the outside world"

"And regardless of his erratic behaviour, you believed him"

Estelle didn't reply, instead she fixed the knight with an angry glare. Artios however didn't seem to notice.

However, Estelle continued:

"And so the peasants revolted. They stormed into the keep and confronted my father. I saw them from behind a half-open door. I saw them all kill him!"

The lady's face started to grow pale and her hands began trembling.

"But somehow you managed to escape" the knight said.

Estelle paused, still being troubled by the memory of her father's death. She bowed her head, her gaze descending down and away from the knight.

Artios said nothing. Instead his mind was busy working this latest batch of revelations out. Everything now made sense: She obviously fled Bregonne and from there, she must've fallen into the hands of Skaven. And due to her father's reputation no one bothered to come to her rescue.

And if her father's madness happened, as she said, several months ago, then she must've been in the Skaven's lair for a very long time.

He paused. No one wants her: No knight and no villagers. She was just like him….

Artios shook his head. What type of numbskull would think up nonsense like that? He was already too committed to the Code of Chivalry. He had little time, or patience, to deal with such pursuits like romance.

The mere thought of it was revolting enough….

Just then the knight cleared his throat.

"We're here"

Estelle opened her eyes and looked up.

They were both standing outside a Grail Chapel. It was a building of sturdy appearance, boasting a tall thin steeple that towered towards the heavens. Its walls were made up of stone and wood and were decorated with the colours of white and gold. Within those walls rested stain-glass windows containing images proclaiming the triumphs of Gilles le Breton. Both the knight and the lady could feel a presence that represented with a sense of calm, purity and peace.

Estelle turned to the knight.

"We'll rest here for the night" he said

She blinked.

"We are welcome here" the knight explained "This is both a sacred location and a haven of all Bretonnian knights."

Estelle nodded.

"I suggest you get some rest" the knight said "Come tomorrow, I intend on moving at the first light of dawn"

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked in a soft voice.

"My quest is complete" he answered "I rescued you"

"But where are you going to take me?"

"I am heading back to Bordeleaux"

"Then I ask that you take me with you!"

Artios' eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You have saved me twice in the one day!" she said "On that basis alone, I know you're someone whom I can trust!"

The knight said nothing.

"Oh come now, Sir Etienne" Estelle said in exasperation "I have nowhere else to go! You saw that village! No one wants me! I am left all alone in this world! The only one I can trust and rely upon is you!"

Artios blinked. Immediately, the Rules of Honour flashed in his mind – the one thing he dedicated his entire life and which can not be argued with under any circumstances.

It seems there was no way out of this.

The knight nodded his consent.

Then Estelle smiled – for the first time since their approach to Bregonne.

"Very well then Sir Knight" she said "I have a new quest for you!"

"What is it, milady?" Artios replied.

"I ask that you become my bodyguard! I ask that that you defend me on the long journey back to Bordeleaux!"

"It shall be done"

"And when we get back" Estelle, went on, her voice becoming increasingly jovial, "I will, in a gesture of gratitude, will take you out to a meal!"

Upon hearing this, the knight's eyes widened and his face flushed with red. This reaction however seemed to delight the lady as she burst into peals of laughter.

Artios sighed – it would seem that he will never be able to shake off this woman.

"Oh and Sir Etienne?" she added "Thank you"

The knight blinked.

"Call me Artios" he said.


	17. XVII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Seventeen

Artios stood before the altar in the Grail Chapel, his eyes directed upwards towards a stained glass window depicting the triumphs of Gilles le Breton.

It had been at least an hour since he'd arrived to the chapel. The Grail Damsels residing in it welcomed both him and Estelle. They took the liberty of treating his wounds and provided them both with food and drink as well as a place to stay for the night.

His brow then furrowed. One thing he was finding difficult was being in the company of Estelle. Whenever the Grail Damsels asked her about him, she proudly declared that he was riding with her to Bordeleaux, protecting her every step of the way.

Artios however found such a notion disgusting.

Particularly on how much the Grail Damsels seemed impressed with him taking this task, saying something along the lines of 'holding up the values of chivalry'

But Artios didn't really seem eager to embrace that notion: He was a knight first and foremost – dedicated solely to porrecting the lady and her name.

Really he was best suited to slaying monsters not escorting ladies around!

He shook his head. Just why the hell was he thinking of this woman?!

He looked around the chapel – and then, on one of the walls, his eye caught sight of two banners: One displayed the Rules of Honour and the other proclaimed the Commandments of Chivalry.

Upon seeing the banners, Artios walked over to read them. He started with the Rules of Honour:

**The Rules of Honour:**

- A Knight may only fight hand-to-hand, he may not use a missile weapon

- A Knight shall always accept a challenge to personal combat

- A knight shall not draw sword against a fellow Bretonnian Knight except in trial by combat or in a tournament

- A Knight shall not allow himself to be captured by the foe

- A Knight shall not retreat from the enemy.

Artios nodded. He had each of one those words committed to memory – like every Knight in Bretonnia should. They were the exact principles each knight has to live by. But in his case, whilst he followed them he did so in a manner where the Rules of Honour and his own outlook on life managed to co-exist side by side.

He killed all those who stood before him without a second thought – all in the name of the Lady of the Lake.

Some called it ruthlessness, others called disgraceful.

Artios called it following a loophole.

He then turned his attention to the banner bearing the Commandments of Chivalry.

**The Seven Commandments of Chivalry**:

- To serve the Lady of the Lake

- To defend the domain entrusted to him

- To protect the weak and fight for the right

- Always to fight the enemies of virtue and order

- Never to give up the fight until the foe are defeated

- Never to break faith with a friend and ally

- Always to display honour and courtesy

He smiled. Again these were rules that suited him. He can still do things his own way without worrying about any accusations or challenges from his fellow knights

Well, there was an exception in the form of Roger but Artios didn't see him as any kind of threat.

There was just one problem however.

And it came in the form of the seventh commandment.

Artios' brow furrowed. 'Always to display honour and courtesy'? He hated such an idea. He was a guardian of the Lady of the Lake. He was a war machine: made to destroy all the evil in this world. He had not the time or patience for such nonsense.

Display honour? Well that wasn't too bad: He had his own idea of honour and he applied as he saw fit. But displaying courtesy? Absurd!

Particularly when dealing with…

"Oh there you are!" came a voice.

The knight raised an eyebrow. His ears then picked up the sound of feet walking towards him.

He didn't bother to turn around. He knew exactly who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Estelle asked, coming beside him "I was wondering where you were"

Then she noticed the banners.

"Ah, the Rules of Honour" she said.

"Are you all right?" the lady then asked.

"I am well" Artios replied flatly.

To this, Estelle giggled.

"What's so funny?' Artios inquired.

"Oh, you're certainly the serious one!" laughed the lady "You say everything so funny!"

"You know" she went on "You never answered my question. You know, about whether or not I was the first damsel you have rescued."

Artios blinked.

"I have never rescued any damsels before" he replied "You're the first"

The knight's brow furrowed. This is odd – he's said more to Estelle in one day than to Etiole and the other knights in one week.

Estelle smiled.

"Ah, that's fine" she said "You certainly don't have to so uptight about it"

But in her mind she conceded a degree of victory. He had said something she was very interested in hearing……

"So what do you plan to do when you get back to Bordeleaux?" the knight asked.

Upon hearing this, the smile vanished from Estelle's face.

"We're going out to a meal of course!" she said "In an expression of gratitude"

The knight looked towards her with a face devoid of emotion. The lady blinked.

"For saving me! Remember?!"

"Oh yes" Artios said.

The lady couldn't believe what she had just heard. The knight seemed to have completely forgotten all about the promise he made to her!

Well, he didn't exactly make – it was more that she forced it out of him.

But still! There was no way she was going to let herself be treated so poorly!

"What do you mean by that?!' Estelle said, her face growing irate "When someone offers you an expression of their gratitude you don't pass them by! And being invited to a meal by a lady isn't something that happens to anybody every day!

"And you! You're a knight! You're bound by honour to accept such an invitation!"

It was a perfect strategy - hitting him where it hurts. She had been around long enough to establish some idea on how his mind works.

Besides, there was no way he was going to be backing out of this one!

Artios sighed.

"You are right" he said, bowing his head "Forgive me"

Estelle's features then softened. The idea of reminding that the knight that he couldn't escape this and the idea that she achieved a degree of triumph appealed to the lady and her smile returned.

"Oh please" she said "It's quite all right"

A small pause developed between the two.

Estelle blinked at the silence before bursting into peals of laughter.

"What did I say?"

"Oh nothing!" The lady smiled. "Nothing at all"

Artios sighed. That's not the first time since they'd met that she's said those words. Just how the hell can she stay so happy?!

Even after all that she has been through, one would think that she would have a much more grim outlook on life – particularly when one considers on how she doesn't have anywhere else to go in this world.

Except with him.

And it was that thought alone that troubled him….

"So then" Artios asked "What are you going to do when we return to Bordeleaux?"

"Go to a…"

"After that?" the knight cut in.

Estelle blinked.

"What you mean?"

"As I recall" the knight went on "When we entered this chapel, you asked that I be your guardian and that I defend you until we return to Bordeleaux.

"So then what happens when we get there?"

Estelle blinked at this but then her eye sparkled.

"Well I have given you a task to accomplish as a lady to a knight. And you must stay with that task until I see fit that you've completed it"

The knight sighed. He could see where this was heading.

Having been with the woman for only an afternoon he really should've known better by now…..

Artios turned and walked towards one of the pews set within the chapel. He then sat down on it.

He really had no idea why he bothered – he was a soldier, a war machine, a guardian of the Lady both of her name and her realm. In his line of work, it was important not to let any emotions get in the way.

When that thing happens, one tends not to function properly…..

Estelle turned and watched his movements, her fascinated eye never leaving him. Then she walked towards him and leaned in towards him.

Artios mentally cursed – seems he'll never shake off this woman.

"So tell me" she asked "What made you want to become a knight?"

"Family tradition" Artios said

"Aha!" Estelle smiled "Let me guess: Your father was once a powerful knight and you naturally followed in his footsteps"

"Yes"

"I knew it!" the lady said "Just like a lot of other knights in this realm.

"Was your father a great man?"

"I don't know" the knight replied "He left when I was a baby, to go on the Grail Quest"

"I bet he was a strong and brave man" Estelle said, in a conversational manner "He must have been if he went to find the Grail.

"How did you learn to become a knight?" she then asked.

"I was taught by a friend of my mother."

"And who was he?"

"Gaston d'Aquitane"

Estelle's brow furrowed.

"Can't say I've heard of him"

Artios said nothing.

Estelle blinked.

He certainly didn't seem one for conversation but that didn't stop her from trying! After all, the more information about him that she can pry out of the knight, the better.

"So" she said, still managing to retain her conversational manner "I'm the first Damsel you have ever rescued?"

"Yes"

"Well then" she smiled "May I say that I believe you did your job very well"

Artios raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you" he said.

"What did you do for quests previously?" she then asked.

"I killed" Artios replied bluntly.

The lady's eyes widened.

"…Oh…." She said.

"I killed Undead, Chaos Warriors, Skaven and Orks. All those that dared profane the name of the Lady of the Lake"

Estelle blinked. This answer was most unexpected but she somehow managed to maintain a calm disposition. Somehow she managed to utilise all her composure to stop getting in anyway flustered.

Well, he certainly has varied experience in battle against numerous foes but he reveals with a very unflinching manner. A manner more suited to a serial killer than a knight.

Estelle could feel a voice whispering to her in the back of mind asking her what she had gotten herself into.

It was a voice that the lady chose to ignore.

"You fought them all and came back alive?" she said "Amazing!"

"If I didn't, they would've killed me" Artios replied bluntly.

"You certainly have a point there" Estelle murmured.

Artios got to his feet.

"You should get some rest" he said "Come tomorrow, we have a long journey ahead for the both of us"

"Back to Bordeleaux" Estelle finished, nodding her consent.

"Are you sure you want to go back there?" the knight inquired "The journey will be long. And there is always the strong chance that we'll get attacked."

"Is that a problem?" the lady asked "I guessed if anyone or anything tried to attack us, you'll protect me, every step of the way"

Artios' brow furrowed.

"That is true" he said slowly "But I have to fulfil your wish to bring to your Bordeleaux. And I can't allow placing you in any kind of danger"

At this, the smile vanished from Estelle's face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded "You think that I'm incapable of looking after myself?!"

Artios turned away from the lady.

"Don't be like that!" Estelle said, her voice flustered "You honestly think that I am one who frightens easily at first sign of danger?!"

"I will protect you each moment from when you leave this chapel to when you arrive at Bordeleaux" the knight replied "I will not allow anything to harm you in any way"

At these words, Estelle's eye widened. Hadn't the knight been looking away, he would've noticed a slight blush making its way across her cheeks.

"I simply refuse to let a task go unfulfilled" Artios went on "I will either return from a mission successful or I won't return at all"

Estelle blinked. By these words, she could feel her anger disintegrate.

"Well…. Thank you" she said slowly "You certainly sound dedicated to your role as a knight

"And on that fact alone I just know I can count on you"

The knight said nothing.

Regardless, Estelle continued.

"I hope that you continue with your duties and will keep me from harm."

Artios then felt something coming down to rest on his shoulder.

It was her hand.


	18. XVIII

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Eighteen

Meanwhile, in many miles, deep within the Chaos wastes, the massive horde of Tzeentch warriors had reached their destination: The Naggaroth Watch Towers.

They didn't attack straight however. Instead they began setting up camp in preparation for the long campaign ahead.

Besides, an immediate attack is really a move favoured by the bloodthirsty maniacs of Khorne, not a move favoured by the subtle ways of Tzeentch.

Oddly enough, the Dark Elves refused to make a move. As such the warriors of Tzeentch were able to establish a base camp unchallenged. Although this did raise more than few eyebrows within the Chaotic ranks, many regarded it as a sign that the Dark Elves of these parts were used to having the Watch Towers assaulted on a regular basis. Some of the chaotics however saw it as a sign that they were planning something whilst others suggested they were cowering in fear.

In any case, the night looked set to be uneventful as both sides were busy with preparations ahead – for the first day of carnage and bloodshed.

The Brotherhood of the Silver Falcon were among the many Tzeentch brethren who settled down for a rest. Some relaxed after countless days of marching whilst others had gathered around numerous campfires in a deformed sense of camaraderie.

Yet in amongst the ranks of the Brotherhood resided a troubled mind.

Upon a mountain crag, high above the gathered horde of Tzeentch Garathor was deep in thought.

So they had arrived. The Watch Towers: A place where, as he was informed, he would face great glory and achieve a degree of significant recognition.

Or at least that's what he was led to believe.

The warlord's brow furrowed. He was here to

Garathor mentally cursed. Damn, where was Katarina when he needed her?! Here he was, on the beginning of a long campaign and she had disappeared to the Old World to attend to matters with their pan Artios. He needed her advice, her guidance, and her knowledge of battle tactics – all of which he had relied heavily before and which became to be the only advice worthy of his trust.

It seemed an absurd notion to rely so much on Katarina's words but they haven't failed him yet.

It was just as well because even when he had strength, both in fighting prowess and in understanding of magic, he didn't really have much in the way of understanding of scheming.

And this one fact set him well apart from his fellow brethren.

In the time spent in the company of these warriors of Tzeentch, it had become clear that Garathor had already built up a reputation in amongst his brethren. His skill with the blade was without question and his knowledge of magic was acknowledged as without equal. Yet it seemed clear that he lacked the tactical genius of his fellow Tzeentch disciples.

Sure his career as a Tzeentch warlord had achieved success but that was with the combined efforts of himself, Katarina and Navaak. By himself, Garathor was somewhat ineffectual.

He was driven purely by his ambitions – so what's wrong with that? He's far from being the first disciple of Chaos to think like that. Yet at the same time, such were his ambitions that there were many times that Katarina and Navaak had to bring him back down to Earth.

Well, maybe not Navaak – he was far more agreeable and committed to his master's cause. As such he only questioned Garathor's plans on the rarest of occasions.

Unlike Katarina who challenged practically every plan that the warlord suggestion.

Still, Garathor let such objections slide because, if experience taught him anything

Nevertheless, it would seem that the understanding that he wouldn't last very long on his own seemed to pass around the ranks of the Tzeentch command.

Thus leaving the warlord being looked down by his peers as somewhat pathetic.

Garathor ground his teeth. This was completely unacceptable.

Tomorrow he will show them. He will show them all.

Success would come his way – Tzeentch was still with him so there was absolutely no way he could fail.

He paused and looked up at the sky.

He wasn't expecting to see anything: the power of Chaos hung deep upon this land leaving not a starlit night sky but a mass of storm clouds.

He paused. When was the last time he ever saw the stars of the night sky…..?

* * *

Over a century ago, in the kingdom of Tilea there lived a merchant in the city of Remas by the name of Stefano Bellini. An intelligent man he, through low cunning and shrewd planning, gradually built his business driven solely by a determination to succeed. Thus, over the course of several years, his small trading business grew into one of the largest, and most powerful, trading name in all of Tilea and beyond.

And as his business grew, so did Bellini reaping considerable power and status due to his large amount of wealth and success.

However this success was obtained through the worst of means: Bellini merely had any opposition removed through assassinations. Anyone who was perceived as threat to his expanding empire was dealt with quickly and quietly.

And considering that this was Tilea, Bellini found no shortage of challenges to his business.

In order to deal with his rivals, Bellini had an elite assassin in his payroll: A man named Alessandro Rossini. Alessandro was both quick and ruthless about his work – he cared little for who he fought for and who he killed for he was well paid with a significant amount of gold.

And so Alessandro killed many well-ranking and successful merchants throughout Tilea all in the name of his patronage. He wasn't bothered removing Bellini's opposition as the merchant always seemed to have a handsome amount of gold once the dirty deed was done.

However, as Stefano's business increased, so did his paranoia. Whether it is through the guilt of having the blood of numerous merchants on his hands or the realisation of the price to pay for success no one knows. Nevertheless, it soon came to Stefano's realisation that Alessandro knew exactly who he had killed and would therefore become a considerable threat. So, rather than risk exposure, the merchant had the assassin arrested.

The trial that followed was an absolute farce: No one believed Alessandro's testimony that he was hired by Stefano - partially because Stefano was now a well recognised merchant in Tilea of status and partially because the scheming merchant made sure all evidence was disposed of. As such, the assassin was sentenced to death.

In the days leading up to Alessandro's execution, his mind was filled with thoughts of outrage and vengeance upon the blasted merchant. It was during this time that the assassin's imprisonment attracted the attention of Tzeentch.

On the eve of his execution, Alessandro paced in his cell, his mind apprehensive. Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of the door in his cell being unlocked. Suspicious, he went to investigate and found it open. Looking around he saw that each and every guard and prisoner in the entire cell block had fallen into a deep sleep. Seeing this as his chance to escape Alessandro fled the cell block. Once outside, he then proceeded to escape the city of Remas – which he did so without any sort of challenge whatsoever.

He was only five hundred kilometres from Reams when he was confronted – by a Lord of Change. Introducing itself as Chidaq'Oerth, the greater daemon explained that he had cast the sleep spell on the city which ensured Alessandro his escape. And to repay this favour, the assassin had to swear his servitude to the Tzeentch. Happy to be out of his prison, Alessandro gladly accepted without a second thought as to who he was dealing with. And so Chidaq'Oerth dubbed the assassin Garathor and instructed him northwards to the Chaos Waste to find both allies and salvation.

And so Garathor headed north avoiding any Empire patrols and defeating any foes who dared challenge him. He could feel his body grow stronger and his mind growing more attuned to an incredible power growing within him.

Whilst journeying through Kislev, Garathor found a group of fellow Chaos Warriors dedicated to Tzeentch. They were being besieged by a group of Kislev soldiers so Garathor stepped into attack – this move was unexpected by the Warriors and the Kislevites but it inspired the soldiers of Tzeentch to redouble their efforts. Eventually, the Kislevites were defeated.

Recognising a fellow battle-brother of Tzeentch, the Chaos Warriors introduced themselves as the Brotherhood of the Silver Falcon. Their leader, the Norseman Navaak Red-Axe, invited Garathor to join them. In reply, Garathor explained that he was heading to the Chaos Wastes – so the Brotherhood agreed to go with him.

With a newly found group of soldiers under his command, Garathor continued on his way. And he arrived to the edge of the Chaos Wastes, he found another ally: The priestess of Tzeentch Katarina. Recognising her status, Garathor invited her into joining the ranks of the Brotherhood.

That was over one hundred years ago. And that fateful meeting triggered the beginning of a long series of battles for Garathor and his allies in the Chaos Wastes. Under Katarina's tactical guidance, the Brotherhood became a powerful force of Tzeentch. As Garathor became stronger and more powerful, his legions grew in size and battle prowess.

In that time, the Brotherhood slowly began making a name for themselves in amongst the Chaos Wastes: They challenged every warband of chaos, whether mortal, beatsmen or daemon, that dared confront them. Katarina advised Garathor that besting the followers of the rival Chaos Gods would yield not only great sport and a large degree of recognition. Thus, when they finally made their way south into the Old World, Garathor will have a reputation to be feared.

This turned out to be wise decision as, within time, the Brotherhood gradually grew in strength, and fighting prowess. As Katarina provided an understanding of battle tactics both intricate and flawless the Brotherhood achieved a series of successful victories. This success led to Garathor growing to trust the priestess as his finest advisor and whose advise could always be relied upon as being always correct.

But with such success comes a degree of recognition. And a wide recognition almost always leads to fools wanting to best the best just to satisfy their ego. Thus, as the reputation of both Garathor and the Brotherhood grew, they began drawing attention from the many warbands that roamed the Chaos wastes. Some came to challenge the warlord, all from each a faction of Chaos. He faced them all: the mindless, bloodthirsty maniacs of Khorne, the malformed and degenerate disciples of Nurgle, and the ambitious, petulant followers of Slaanesh. Garathor even triumphed over rival warbands of Tzeentch. All conflicts resulted in both another victory and a sense of pleasure in removing dangerous opponents who may be a possible threat to the future plans of the Great Schemer.

And certainly more satisfying than fighting the puny humans of the southern kingdoms who tended to hide behind high stone walls.

Garathor himself grew into a powerful warlord, slaying hundreds of warriors, beastmen and daemons all in the name of the Great Schemer. And with each successful victory followed another, changes were also growing within the Brotherhood: Their success attracted the attention of more warriors of Tzeentch who pledged servitude to this rising warlord. Navaak also changed, his human facial features changing into the distinctive bird head that the champions of Tzeentch are renowned for. Katarina's changes were more subtle: her knowledge and power over magic increased but her facial features seemed untouched: she never aged from beyond twenty summers.

Truly Chaos moves in mysterious ways.

But with every step he travelled, with every foe he felled with his blade and with every warband he defeated, Garathor could sense a sense of destiny. He could feel that Tzeentch was with him with every league he travelled and he knew the Great Schemer had a plan in mind for him: All the warlord had to do was slay more soles in His name and Tzeentch will reward him…..

There was also something else that drove him continuously onward.

It was the thought of taking massive force down into the Old World and advancing into Tilea.

Yes, he will march into that damned region, and expose the machinations of the cursed merchant Bellini. The merchant's murderous plots will be made public, his business will crumble and he'll be executed.

That thought alone was sweet enough.

What does it matter that Bellini may be long dead? No business can survive whilst having such skeletons in the closet.

Should this plan fail, Garathor can always take the familiar Chaotic approach and butcher everyone living in Tilea.

* * *

Garathor heard the sound of footsteps. He looked up to see Navaak approach.

"My lord' he said "Dawn draws nearer. Our brethren of Tzeentch are preparing to attack and we are ready for you."

The warlord smiled.

"I come" he said "Let's go kill some Dark Elves"


	19. XIX

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Nineteen

"And just who the hell are you?"

Katarina gazed coldly at the elf standing before her. He had a face etched with cruel features, pale complexion and boasted locks of greying hair. The elf was dressed in a suit of elven armour, bearing the distinctively twisted Dark Elf craftsmanship. He came complete with a dark cape and a wicked looking blade. His shield boasted an intricate design of Khaine, the elven god of murder, standing across a bloodied battlefield.

Although Katarina wondered in amusement that if that was the elf's way of celebrating his god then it's anyone guess as to why the god in question hasn't already struck him down.

Who else but the elves would waste such intricate designs and artistic skill on a piece of metal fated to bear the battered of a thousand swords?

The Dark Elf, answering to the name of Khalek, fixed the sorcerer with a contemptuous gaze. He waved his blade across in front of him, piercing the air with each swish.

"Heading off to the Watch Towers are you?" Khalek demanded "Going to join your comrades?"

Katarina grinned evilly.

"That's right" she said.

"Ha!" the elf sneered "The Watch Towers have stood for centuries! No force of Chaotics has ever succeeded in destroying any of them!

"So what makes you so certain that you can do what many others before you failed to?"

The priestess of Tzeentch just shrugged.

"Well, I could tell you" she said "But what type of follower of the Great Schemer would I be?"

Khalek's brow furrowed. With a look of utter hatred written across his face, he began to advance onto the sorceress.

"What nonsense you talk!" the elf sneered "What hope do you have penetrating the stone walls of the Watch Towers? And of besting a garrison of bloodthirsty elves who will kill anything for two copper pieces?!

"You're talking the talk of yet another idiot warlord of Chaos who is blinded by his own ambitions!"

"Really?" Katarina retorted "And you're talking the talk of a damn elf!"

Khalek charged.

"Is that so?" he snarled "Well guess what! I am an…"

The Dark Elf never got to finish his sentence. For suddenly he found himself engulfed in a mass of flame. Khalek's vision was blinded with orange and his skin ignited.

The elf was knocked off his feet and fell onto his back.

The fireball wracked tremendous damage on Khalek. Eventually, however, his vision cleared and he was once again confronted with the sight of the sorceress.

She had a single finger raised to her lips, which she then blew a small breath upon.

"Funny" she murmured, a sadistic grin across her lips, "I thought the Druchii were the type who attacked without hesitation. The way you were carrying on I was beginning to mistake you for your High Elf cousins.

Khalek could feel his body wracked with pain. He couldn't move for feeling his limbs screaming with agony, he couldn't even lift his sword for the sensation of all strength being drained.

Yet he could still see. And all he could see was nothing but contempt for the priestess.

Khalek could also still speak.

"Just what are you doing out there anyway?" Katarina asked.

"I was out here scouting" the elf growled.

"You?" the priestess answered her brow furrowing "Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you have Shades to do that type of thing?"

"I'm a Dark Rider!" the elf snapped "One of many who are out scouting this vicinity!"

"So what were you expecting to find?" the priestess chuckled "Some champion of Chaos like myself? Well, you certainly got that part right"

Khalek said nothing for spluttering with exasperation.

"And then what were you going to do?" Katarina went on "Once you found a champion of Chaos? Challenge them and defeat them?

"Oh dear, you're not doing too well in that area…"

The Dark Elf glared at her, his rage barely being kept in check.

"If all of the Druchii are like you then I see no reason to heed your insistence that we will never topple one of the Watch Towers"

This was the final straw. With a roar Khalek got his feet. Ignoring whatever pain caused by Katarina's fireball, and being driven forth by the frustration of her many taunts, the Dark Elf charged.

Mock him will she? Well, he'll just show her just how the Druchii get things done!

But had the Dark Elf hadn't been blinded by his own rage he would've noticed the priestess holding a blade.

The blade cleaved the air before the priestess before coming into conflict with Khalek's sword. The two weapons slammed into each other with a tremendous crash.

The elf blinked at this weapon – it looked like a tremendously ancient weapon, its appearance suggesting that it came out from a story of legend, from an era long forgotten. But at the same time, the sword seemed distorted by the warp power of Chaos – it bore a series of decorative skulls along it's hilt and showed signs of being used to cleave hundreds of foes.

Then something extraordinary happened.

As Khalek eyed the skulls set in amongst the hilt, one them sparkled.

Then, two small blue orbs both emerged, each from within the skulls' eye sockets.

And then the skull's jawbone began to move. And before the elf realised what was happening, words began drifting out from within!

"You are doomed!"

The elf was so startled, he immediately broke concentration – as a result, he was sent flying backwards.

Khalek paused to catch his breath, his brain still trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed.

"What in the name of Khaine are you, woman?!"

"I told you" Katarina said smoothly "I am going to join my comrades – all of which are followers of Tzeentch.

"Which would make me a priestess."

"Tzeentch?!"

"What, you only realised it now!?" Katarina mocked "Funny, I thought the clothing and blue and gold armour would have already given it away"

The elf staggered back up onto his feet.

He looked up to face the priestess and his eyes hardened.

"A priestess you say?" he said "Well then, if I take your head to my masters I will be handsomely rewarded!"

Katarina glared back at him and her mouth formed into a twisted smile.

"Come and get it!"

Khalek clutched his sword in both hands. The sorceress merely twirled her blade in her hands.

The Dark Elf raised an eyebrow. That blade looked extraordinarily heavy – and yet she wielded it with the greatest of ease. Sure she was a disciple of Tzeentch but just exactly what is the extent of her power?! And how much was she keeping from his gaze?!

But then he pushed that thought aside – she was a scum of chaos! He had fought the followers of Chaos before and they all bled like every other living thing in this world.

Why should the bitch confronting him be any different?!

With a roar he charged…..

Grasping the ancient blade in both hands, Katarina drove into the direction of the charging Khalek.

The Dark Elf grinned as he charged closer and closer. The bitch priestess didn't see to make any move, as if she was prepared to take the charge.

Is that so? She must be a fool for thinking such a pointless tactic.

As Khalek kept his eye on Katarina, he noticed her foot tap the ground twice.

And then suddenly, without warning, she vanished!

This sudden move sent the Dark Elf into a state of bewilderment. His legs faltered, now without a target and left uncertain as to where to go. His blade, ready to be swung now found itself held by uncertain hands. And Khalek's eyes were left in a state of disbelief and plunged into a conflict with his mind.

Where the hell did she go?

"Looking for something?" came a voice from behind.

With his legs still running forward, Khalek flicked his head around.

But it was too late - With the greatest of ease Katarina swung her ancient sword in a massive arc. With a crunch, the blade smashed it's way past the Dark Elf's ornate armour and found contact with flesh and then bone.

Khalek could feel the ancient blade cleaving it's way deep into him. Then, much against his will, he stumbled forward, onto his knees.

It then struck him: He was dead.

The elf's body toppled down onto his face as Katarina pulled her blade out from him.

She gazed at the ancient blade fondly her expression one of satisfaction as it, once again, has downed any other foe that dared challenge her.

Her eyes then caught sight, as it did many times before, of a small word inscribed across the blade. It read: _Skull-blade_.

The sword was the best there is at doing what it did.

Katarina looked down at the dead Khalek. She then spoke, sending words to his dead that she knew he will never hear.

"If your Dark Elf brethren are as pitiful as you then I see no reason why I should be worried about attacking them"

* * *

Following on from this diversion, Katarina made her way back to the Brotherhood and their fellow Tzeentch battle-brothers. 

It was dawn: the first few rays of daylight were already creeping in, igniting the sky with oranges and reds.

And revealing a tall black mass of stone and iron that was the first Dark Elf Watch Tower.

Katarina paused to look up at it. The tower took the form of a large citadel and it certainly was a grotesque sight: At first glance, it seemed to coincide with the distinctive constructional style that the High Elves were famous for: The base and the towers were both rounded and were made from marble. But there the similarities ended for the Dark Elves here utilised a much darker brand of marble, making the tower black. The parapets of the tower were constructed from black iron and decorated with the most sinister angles and skull designs that the Druchii were famous for. The effect certainly presented an intimidating visage that would deter any army foolish to attempt an assault.

But the followers of Tzeentch are anything but fools.

She turned towards her gaze towards her allies.

She couldn't really miss them: They had all settled some distance from the Watch Tower and were currently amassing to commence their first assault.

Katarina cast a mocking glance at the tower. No, it didn't look any different from many of the other fortresses she has faced before. An edifice like this shouldn't last long under the weight of the mass of Tzeentch assembled before it.

She then turned and headed towards the rest of the army.

There, Katarina located the Brotherhood of the Silver Falcon and was greeted by Garathor and Navaak.

"Welcome back" Garathor said "So glad you could join us"

"I couldn't miss a battle such as this milord" the priestess replied "It will be a pleasure to play a part in it"

"It is a pleasure to see you back Katarina" Navaak said "How was the Old World?"

"It was actually a really dull trip" she replied "Sure there was a mass of Bretonnian Knights all uniting to fight a necromancer but how many times has that happened before?"

The three Tzeentch champions all laughed at the observation.

"And what of the pawn?" Garathor inquired.

"He is still alive and still waiting his next command" Katarina answered "He was last seen attacking a band of Skaven to rescue a Bretonnian Lady - one Estelle Rossereux. Last check revealed that they were travelling together"

Garathor and Navaak exchanged disinterested looks.

"It's important that he doesn't lose sight of his combat skills" the warlord said gravely "Our progress depends on us guiding him towards the elimination of all obstacles in our path. Should he fail then any such obstacles will eventually evolve into a major threat. It has been foreseen in a various number of possible destinies – we just have to ensure the destiny that works for us"

"Is it wise to alter fate so?" Katarina countered "No one can escape destiny"

"No one except us" Garathor purred "We are the followers of Tzeentch. We make destiny happen

"In any case" he went on "I don't want the fighting skills of our pawn become clouded by the presence of unexpected interlopers"

"You needn't worry" the priestess ginned "If I know anything about the Knights of Bretonnia, it's that when they are defending a woman, they will fight with vigour, determination and often to the bitter end.

"I see no reason why this woman, this Estelle, shall prove to be a problem"

Navaak raised an eyebrow. Garathor merely shrugged.

"Point noted" he said "But now, we have greater matters afoot: We have a siege to attend to"

Garathor and Navaak nodded.

The warlord looked back across the ranks of mortals before him. The many soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Silver Falcon all gazed back at him, each ready for the call to attack and spill Dark Elf blood.

They were looking to him as a leader – a man they will gladly lay down their lives and whom they will follow into Hell.

Well, the Chaos Wastes at least.

They came seeking a leader and he himself is what they found. They are the tools of his conquest, the building of his reputation and his eventual revenge.

Even if promises of conquest and glory made them completely unaware of this fact.

There's no reason to let them down. If any of them survive this day he will still find a use for them eventually.

"I have seen the fortress' defences" Katarina said "It certainly looks well defended. I strongly suspect there is a substantial garrison defending it. I also believe that the Elves would have a wide range of defence mechanisms and may have reinforced their walls with magical enchantments to prevent any breaching through spells."

"Are we all following the same plan here?" Navaak murmured, indicating towards the mass of Tzeentch "It would be a horrible disaster if each and every warlord in this force followed their own plan"

"Funny" Katarina muttered "I thought each and every disciple of Tzeentch did anyway"

"Silence!" Garathor commanded "I have met with a consul of leaders in this legion. We have each been assigned a particular role to play in this assault and this is what we will do!"

Navaak and Katarina exchanged looks as Garathor continued

"Each faction of this force has an objective to fulfil – How they go about it isn't important!"

"So what then is our role?' Navaak inquired.

"We are to take the western side and bring down as many of the towers as we can approach. This will allow time for our allies to launch a full frontal assault on the walls and slaughter the puny Elven defenders."

Garathor then turned to Katarina.

"I hope you have a plan in mind"

"Have I ever let you down?" she replied.

"Look!" Navaak then said.

There, rising above the ranks of the Tzeentch warriors was a monstrosity. It flew up in the air, born in great wings of feathers. It boasted a flesh of blue scales and feathers, and a face consisting of an enormous beak and evil looking eyes. It was dressed in robes of silver and gold and carried in it's taloned hand a deformed staff made from a red crystal capped off with a demented looking face at it's top.

It was Chidaq'Oerth, the Lord of Change who had summoned them here.

Gradually, all of the warriors of Tzeentch feel silent and looked skyward towards their leader. On the other side of the battlefield, several Dark Elves were gathering on the battlements of the Watch Tower both ready to attack and curious to see what the Greater Daemon was intending to do.

Suddenly, the Dark Elves began to move: Several of them began readying themselves to fire – in the form of a Repeater Bolt Thrower.

As Chidaq'Oerth rose further into the sky, he kept his eye on the citadel, waiting for their first move. Down below, the warriors of Tzeentch watched with bated breath.

And then something did happen: It came in the form of a single huge bolt coming hurtling towards the Greater daemon.

Grinning evilly, Chidaq'Oerth prepared for action.

The bolt came screaming through the air towards the Greater Daemon. Suddenly, at the last moment, Chidaq'Oerth reached grabbed it mid flight!

A hush of awe descended across the ranks of Tzeentch.

Then, without batting an eyelid, the Lord of Change clenched his grip around the bolt, smashing into two and sending pieces of it scattering downward.

Immediately a roar went up across the forces of Tzeentch.

The Lord of Change then raised his hand towards the Watch Tower.

"Charge!" it roared.


	20. XX

Dark Shard - Acheron 20

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Twenty

Meanwhile, back in the Old World, Artios and Estelle rested within the safety of the Grail Chapel.

Estelle rested in her own room, upon sheets of fine linen, in a state of bliss and comfort that was far removed from the shabby conditions of the Skaven lair she had spent the past few days in.

For Artios however sleep didnt come easy. His eyes remained open, his mind restless and his body refusing to submit to the human need to sleep.

It wasnt enough that the idea of going to sleep was to lower ones guard and invite any potential assassins (What difference does it make if this was on the holy ground of the Grail Chapel? Assassins kill anything at any given opportunity without a second thought). It was also the idea that surrendering to sleep was also the means to give way to dreams.

And in the case of the knight, not all dreams are welcome.

Within time however, sleep eventually triumphed. Overcome with fatigue, Artios drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_And so, Artios came to stay with Fluerisse and Gaston for a period of three years. In that time, the lady came to uphold her dying friends request in teaching Artios about how to become a knight. She taught all she knew with regards to the Code of Chivalry, the Rules of Honour and the stories of Gilles le Breton. All the while, Artios began to expand his knowledge of swordplay and began to develop signs of great skill in using a blade. _

_Fluerisse took on her role as a foster-mother quite seriously. Although admittedly, this task wasnt easy as the child had to accept the fact that his mother was dead. But as it turned out, he seemed to take such knowledge without much difficulty. _

_A notion the lady found extremely unsettling. _

_It probably wasnt a comforting thought an aspiring knight should begin their career with so she took care to present his father Mathieu in a positive light: When asked, Fluerisse described Mathieu as a brave man who fought for what he believed in and who never gave up. _

_She was also careful not to mention that he was dead. _

_And that his Grail Quest ended just as soon as it began. _

_Within a few days since his arrival, Fluerisse took the young lad out onto the keep grounds, to a circle of grass. The grass in question however wasnt green like the rest of the keep grounds but darkened. It smelt of both sweat and blood._

_And blood._

_As such, it didnt take a lot for Artios to determine that this was a training ground._

_And there, waiting for them both, stood a young Knight Errant. He was dressed in full armour but no helm which in turn revealed his handsome looks, long flowing brown hair and an appearance that implied the knight being of no older than eighteen summers._

_Beside the knight stood a table where upon which lay two wooden swords and a jug of water with two glasses._

_Fluerisse approached the knight. The knight bowed._

_Milady he said._

_Jehan Fluerisse commanded I have summoned you here, because I want you to teach this young lad here all you know about swordplay_

_Everything? the knight named Jehan wheezed That will surely take more than one lesson_

_Exactly the lady replied Which is I why I want you to start now_

_I leave him in your care she said, as she turned away, heading back in the direction of the keep. Take good care of him_

_Jehan blinked but then he bowed in reverence._

_It shall be done, milady_

_He then turned to Artios._

_Hello there Jehan grinned Youre the boy that the lady Fluerisse talks about_

_Artios said nothing._

_The knight blinked at this but then he shrugged._

_Im Jehan he went on And Im here to give you a lesson in swordplay_

_He then indicated towards the table. ._

_You know what this is? Jehan asked, pointing towards one of the swords._

_Its a sword the boy replied._

_And do you know how to use one? _

_Artios said nothing._

_You dont do you?_

_The boy still said nothing._

_Jehan sighed. This task looked set to become an uphill struggle. Sure, this was a mere practice session, in that both would be using wooden swords in order for Artios to get a feel for using one, but this is back down to basic level. Why, when Jehan himself tired this exercise he was eight. Not ten!_

_Still, any experience is good experience and Fluerisse seemed to know what she was doing by getting him started right away. _

_The squire and the boy stood facing each other, in front of a table where two wooden training swords lay. _

_Jehan sighed again. This was going to take a while_

_Well the first thing I can do for you is to teach you on how to use a sword he said, his voice one of a resigned manner. _

_The squire picked up one of the wooden swords and swung it in a huge arc. He then took several steps from the table, prompting Artios to make his move._

_The boy picked up the other wooden sword but he did not raise it above his hip._

_See that sword in your hand? Jehan said You hold it with one hand_

_I know how to hold a sword Artios interjected._

_Jehan blinked, taken aback by the audacity of the child. He felt like slapping him for his cheek but, as Fluerisse wouldnt take too kindly to such an act, he refrained himself from doing so._

_Is that so? the knight challenged Then how about you show me?_

_And with that, he yelled a battle cry and charged towards Artios, his sword waving and his expression nothing short of intimidating._

_Artios blinked before holding his sword up in front of him, in a defensive manner._

_Jehan swung his sword in a huge arc, in the boys direction. But the blow was interrupted Artios held his own sword out in front of him, in a defensive manner. This caused Jehans sword to deflect away._

_The knight blinked in surprise but not for long he immediately carried on: He delivered another blow. But again this was deflected._

_Jehan immediately launched into an attack pattern, in issuing a series of blows one after the other interweaving from both the left and right._

_But all were deflected by Artios holding his blade out in front of him. Never once did the boy try to move the blade nor did he try to make any kind of effort to attack. He just kept the blade steady against everything Jehan threw at him._

_At first, the knight was surprised by this but he then became irritated._

_You call that fighting? he snapped in between blows You dont win battles by constantly defending!_

_The boy said nothing._

_Attack! Jehan demanded Prove to me you can do more than defend! Attack!_

_The boy blinked._

_Then, as the knight raised his sword in preparation to deliver yet another blow, the boy finally reacted. He bowed his head, along with his wooden sword._

_..before jabbing it upwards into the knights chest!_

_The strike was so sudden that the knight immediately ceased his barrage of attacks. Such was the unexpected nature of impact that the shock forced him into taking two steps backward. _

_The boy didnt make a follow-up move so Jehan paused._

_Good move there he said Seems you do know of offence as well as defence_

_Artios said nothing._

_Regardless, Jehan continued. _

_Now we have the basics sorted out lets move onto different._

* * *

_Thats enough for the day Jehan instructed Lets have a rest_

_The child nodded._

_Jehan blinked at the child this had been a hard afternoon, teaching the boy about the art of wielding a sword. Even if it was a wooden sword, the boy hadnt been finding this lesson an easy one throughout the lesson he seemed to regard the blade with both fear and awe. It was as if he had never even seen a sword before let alone used one. _

_As such, the squire had no idea whether or not the child had been taking in what he had been taught. But in case, he seemed to show some promise with the blade._

_The knight Errant shrugged and turned towards the table. He picked up the jug and poured two glasses of water one of which he offered to the child._

_So tell me Jehan said to the child What do you think makes a knight?_

_A knight has to defeat his enemies_

_Jehan blinked by then he chuckled_

_Well there is an element of truth there but thats not what I was thinking_

_What do you think makes a knight?_

_The boy said nothing._

_Jehan sighed. This child certainly isnt the talkative type it made the knight wonder if anything he was saying was making any kind of impression. _

_A knight has to defend his realm, honour the Lady of the Lake and_

_Protect the weak? the child finished._

_Jehan blinked. Well, it would seem some kind of connection has been made_

_You could say that the knight grinned._

_His face then fell serious._

_Is that what you want to do?_

_The child nodded. _

_Whys that?_

_My mother died when I was small the boy said, his voice devoid of any emotion She died when I shouldve been protecting her. She was killed by Goblins when there was no one around to stop them!_

_Jean blinked._

_I am very sorry to hear that, lad_

_The boy said nothing._

_So is that why you want to become a knight? To protect the weak?_

_The boy nodded._

_You certainly have some noble intentions the knight said._


	21. XXI

Dark Shard - Acheron 21

**Title:** Acheron

**Author**: Spike

**Chapter: **Twenty One

Meanwhile, many countless leagues from the Grail Chapel in Bretonnia, a day was coming to an end.

The sun had set and night was creeping in. All the mayhem and clatter of the preceding day had come to a close, leaving a deathly silence penetrated by but the smallest of noises.

And in the middle of this silence, a malevolent force was brooding.

Garathor Warlord of Tzeentch, strode across the plain. With each step he could feel the crunch of bone, the screams of the dying and the caws of ravens seeking to find scavenge some form of meat from the many corpses.

The warlord paused and scanned the plain around him. All around he could see a mass of broken bodies, a mixture of both armour plated Chaos Warriors, Misshapen beastmen and the occasional daemonic form.

Garathor looked up at the sky and smiled.

It had been another good day of slaughter.

As he noted the dead Chaotics, even to the point of recognising some of his own, Garathor was delighted to see many shattered forms of their Dark Elf foes, their frail bodies ruined from meeting the awesome cleaving power of a Chaos blade.

The Daemon chuckled to himself, a growling noise emitting in short bursts.

Elves they certainly werent made to last. How they managed to live such long lives, let alone found a civilisation that has lasted for thousands of years hell never know.

He then turned and looked towards the goal of this assault.

The Dark Elf Watch Tower loomed above him like a monstrous monolith, daring him to claim it. Even in the creeping twilight, the Watch Tower had grown completely black, like an enormous abyss that contained many secrets but refused to give any away.

Garathor could see a number of fires raging across the surface of the Watch Tower fires that were no doubt already being attended by the Dark Elf Garrison.

The warlord smiled to himself. Not a bad effort considering the Watch Towers have a reputation for being impregnable and for having never once fallen into the hands of many a would be conqueror.

And it was only the first day.

Garathor then spied a small tower residing in the surface of the enormous citadel. It was situated several miles above the ground and was one of the lower points of defence.

The warlords gaze hardened. That one tower he will claim it for himself. He will see to it personally that that point of defence crumbles and all of the Elves inside it will perish. It doesnt matter how he does it: Whether by magic, siege machinations or simply through a thousand chaotic soldiers all willing to die at his hand. What matters is that tower falls and he finally draws the attention of his patron master, Tzeentch.

After all, its about time the Changer of Ways started taking notice.

How many souls must be slain and offered to him in order to be granted the fabled rewards that are offered to those who live to be Champions of Chaos? How many battles must be fought and won? How much more must die at his hand before the road of damnation opens up to endless possibilities?

In a way, the berserkers of Khorne have it easy.

But no, the path of damnation he took was an erratic one with many twists and turns as one would expect from the Great Schemer.

* * *

Elsewhere in the Tzeentch camp, Katarina was fuming.

Before her stood a group of lesser champions. Although their faces were concealed behind the hideously, spiked helms of Chaos, the priestess could tell they were wishing they werent here.

She turned and looked upwards at the tower. At the end of the first day, some considerable progress had been made but, in Katarinas view, not enough.

The priestess then glared towards the assembled champions.

I had an excellent plan arranged for today she said, her voice as cold as steel Unfortunately, it didnt happen

She then jabbed her finger towards the Watchtower, towards one of the minor towers in its lower regions.

You see that? she went on I wanted to take that tower. I wanted to show those Druchii scum what we can do. If we are to succeed where so many have failed before us then we need to show them we mean business.

So why havent we taken that tower? Or at least brought it crashing down?

The champions looked nervous.

Im waiting. Katarina growled.

Eventually one of them spoke up.

My lady he said, his voice reluctant The forces were too strong. There were legions of crossbowmen in that tower. And when we tried to assault the tower directly, they kept beating us back.

Funny Katarina snapped I thought Elves break easily on battle. Why should they pose any problem to us?

But these are Dark Elves! the champion protested They have sold their souls to Khaine!

No, it means theyre all still Elves

But we are used to elves cowering in fear before us but these give no quarter!

And I dont expect you to give them any Katarina countered If you cant crush them then I suspect youre not trying hard enough!

We are the forces of Chaos! she went on We fight anyone anywhere!

And we never fail

The champion said nothing. His companions did likewise.

Katarina glared at all three of them.

You three have all failed me she said coldly However this is only the first day. Therefore I will overlook this indiscretion provided you serve me well in the days to follow

The three Champions of Chaos immediately knelt down on one knee and bowed to the priestess.

We swear never to fail you again! they said in unison.

However had the Champions not avert their gaze from Katarina, they wouldve noticed her eyes closed, her finger to her lips and her mouth chanting silent words.

Then the priestess opened her eyes.

Phaos!

Immediately, a bright blue glow emitted from the depths of each of the Chaos Champions. The three glows grew brighter and brighter until it threatened to blind the eyes of any onlookers.

The three Champons, from deep within the armour, started to speak.

What the hell is this?!

Whats going on?!

As the glow grew in intensity, the cries of alarm grew more with panic. Suddenly, the Champions abruptly fell silent.

But Katarina was hardly bothered. It wasnt as if this was the first time shed cast this spell.

It was a simple spell she had picked up as a Priestess of Tzeentch. With a mere word, she can vaporise anyone from with inside their armour. A physical form disappears leaving only a mere magical essence, holding the armour together and answering only to the priestess herself.

On some occasions, Katarina used it when facing foes in battle.

But the rest of time she used it to keep her charges in line.

Then without a word, the three suits of armour got to their feet. They all saluted the priestess and walked away without saying a single word.

Katarina smiled to herself. Garathor didnt mind that she use this spell on his men.

In fact he kind of liked them being able to take orders without question.

* * *

Meanwhile, Garathor had ceased walking across the battlefield, his mind gradually falling deeper and deeper into contemplation. He then backed down and proceeded to sit down upon the armour of a fallen Dark Elf.

There was only one problem.

The Dark Elf was still in the armour.

And he was still alive.

Thus a scream of pain and agony came rushing into the warlords ears.

Growling with annoyance Garathor turned and saw a pair of elvish eyes glare back at him. Eyes that possessed some extraordinary beauty but at the same time, bore some kind of twisted taint.

The elf spoke first: What the hell

But he never got to finish: For Garathor drove his enormous blade down through the elfs skull. The elf died with his mouth open, caught mid sentence in a speech hell never finish.

Will you shut up? the warlord snapped back Im trying to think

And with that, Garathor looked up at the darkening sky, his mind drifting to places elsewhere.

The Chaos Warlord recalled a time long ago.

It was over a century ago, in the kingdom of Tilea that there lived a merchant in the city of Remas. A merchant who went by the name of Stefano Bellini. From the outset, he was a merchant of considerable power and status due to his large amount of wealth and success. Of course, in a region loaded to the brim with greedy merchants, ruthless mercenaries and general gold-hungry folk, such a distinction meant a lot.

Of course, this was in a time that was long gone and forgotten by all.

Except Garathor..

* * *

_ What is your name? asked a long-forgotten voice from the mists of time._

_ Alessandro Rossini said a voice that sounded disturbingly familiar._

_ Excellent said the first voice._

_ It was in a chamber that resembled an office. Along the walls resided numerous bookcases, loaded with books, scrolls and the odd cashbox. At the a centre of the room stood a desk made form the finest of imported wood. And at the desk sat a man. He was of a slim frame, dressed in fine robes and boasted numerous gold rings on his fingers. The man also had a set of unruly black hair, handsome features and a wide smile that radiated with charisma. _

_ Do you know why I have summoned you here? the man asked._

_ He was addressing a second man: One who knelt down on the floor of the office before the desk. This man was dressed in black and boasted a belt containing numerous, swords, daggers, knives and other silent death weapons. _

_ All indications that betrayed this mans profession as an assassin. _

_ The robed man eyed the assassin with both suspicion and fear. Any attempt to study the man was immediately thwarted as his facial features were concealed: The assassins mouth and nose resided beneath a black cloth leaving his eyes, forehead and scalp bare. The robed man could see the assassin was bald, save for a black topknot, but his eyes were indeed a frightening sight: They were the type that had seen death many times over. These eyes looked like they had killed countless people without any hesitation and would gladly kill more. _

_ But regardless of whatever intimidation the assassin gave off, the robed man continued:_

_ I heard you are the best the business_

_ You could say that the assassin said But you would be hard pressed to find any of my creditors. Still alive that is. _

_ The robed man chuckled at the joke unsure whether he should laugh because it was funny or not to anger the assassin._

_ In any case the robed man went on Perhaps I should introduce myself: I am Stefano Bellini, merchant on the rise._

_ I dont care about your life story the assassin said sharply And I dont care who I kill, just as long as you pay well_

_ The robed man named Stefano blinked, taken aback by the assassin. But somehow, he managed to regain his composure and continued. No good looking like a fool when discussing a new business partnership._

_ Particularly when this man is a professional killer and whom can kill without batting an eyelid._

_ Of course Stefano faltered I need to you to take out any potential rivals_

_ And who would they be? the assassin named Alessandro interrupted Fellow merchants?_

_ Stefanos eyes widened. This assassin is sharp. But he certainly has a lot of cheek about him. But what would the assassin know about business and staying head of ones competitors? All they do is go around and stab people. _

_ But he should try and save face. Or else the merchant himself could end up being the one getting stabbed. _

_ ..They.. they are people who may be a threat to my companys stability and continued survival_

_ But of course Alessandro replied. _

_ Regardless Stefano went on Your skills will be required to deal with multiple targets, both current and any potential threats in the future. Indeed, once the major targets have been dealt with, I may call on you again to deal with rising dangers_

_ Just tell me how much Im being paid and Ill kill anyone and anything you ask the assassin said, his voice showing no sign of emotion whatsoever._

_ I will give you a thousand gold crowns in advance Stefano said You will get an additional two thousand once youve completed your first assignment and another two thousand when youve dealt with your next target_

_ The assassin looked up and grinned a wolfish grin._

_ I think _

_ And one last thing Stefano said I trust you go about your business with a substantial degree of professionalism?_

_ I dont know you are the assassin replied with a wink I have never seen you before in my life_

* * *

_ At his peak, Stefano was indeed amongst the most successful merchants in Remas. But it hadnt always been that way: Indeed, he only chose this career path purely because he saw as a way to make lots money in such a short space of time. But it was only after he started this undertaking did the truth become revealed: This profession was truly cut-throat and was a continuos race to see who can satisfy the most demands coming from the people of Tilea. Needless to say, Stefano had struggled to find his footing and was continually outpaced by his rivals. _

_ Eventually, after weeks of frustration, the young merchant decided to take a more aggressive stance against his fellow merchants. However this new plan involved achieving success through the worst of means: Seeing as he couldnt keep up with them in the terms of business enterprising, he decided to take direct action and remove them from the merchant race. _

_ The young merchant planned to have any opposition removed through assassinations. And the assassin paid to do the dirty deed was named Alessandro Rossini. Alessandro was widely regarded the best in the business by being both quick and ruthless about his work and having a fearsome reputation to match. He cared little for who he fought for and who he killed just as long as he was well paid with a significant amount of gold. Money Stefano was only too happy to supply._

_ And so Alessandro went on to kill many well-ranking and successful merchants throughout Tilea all in the name of his patronage. And with this new employee under his thumb, Stefano quickly found his rivals dropping out of the merchant trade at a rather quick (not to mention mysterious) rate. Subsequently, Stefano also saw, to his delight, his own business increase rapidly. _

_ Such dubious actions would sound hardly surprising in such a corrupt region but it certainly paid off for Stefano. And just like every other merchant in Tilea, Stefano had fought hard to obtain his measure of success and was determined to hang onto it at any cost. But with his pet assassin willing to kill anything with question, Stefano had nothing to fear._

_ However there was something he hadnt counted on. _

_ Something Alessandro couldnt save the merchant from._

* * *

_Such was Stefanos growth of success that his standing in the eyes of the Tilean public also increased. As is always the case, once one has money and lots of it respect comes soon after. Powerful investors who denied backing came knocking at his door, rich people who once scorned him now sought his business and even the most highly regarded of manufacturers wished to sell their products under his name. _

_No one seemed to be aware of Stefanos dubious methods of achieving success and, in the kingdom of Tilea where corruption is rife, it is doubtful anyone wouldve cared. _

_Thus, it was on this particular evening, Stefano found himself mingling with the cultural elite of Remas. He was invited to an exclusive gathering where he could drink, eat and socialise with the most powerful people in the city._

_Not bad for a guy who was once struggling to make a career of being a merchant._

_So far, the night had progressed smoothly. Stefano tried many of the wines that were available and tasted some of rich, but indeed delicious food. Of course, all of this was new and nothing like what he had experience before. _

_Also, he found himself the subject of many flirtatious gazes by many of the young women around the room. Again this was nothing like he had experienced previously. Such is the thrill of moving up in the world_

_So in any case, he should enjoy this. Because therell be no telling how long itll last._

_And then it hit him._

_Stefano blinked. What was going on here? Something didnt seem right here._

_Why should it matter? He was in a state of euphoria at the moment: he was rich, successful and recognised as a powerful person. So what could possibly be the matter?_

_He looked around the room. And all around he could see things that filled him with unease: Stern faces of the dignitary frowning down upon him, people whispering to each other whilst gazing at him from across the room, various young ladies giggling at him from afar and everyone generally keeping their distance._

_The message was clear: he didnt belong here. _

_Stefano could feel his head swim. What the hell was this? This cant be happening: he was one of them. After coming so far, they should be treating him like a brother._

_He looked at his hand: In it was a goblet filled with red wine. But to him it didnt look red wine, it looked like something else._

_Stefano could feel his hand shake so much so, he couldnt sense a young woman approach._

_Well hello there she said Are you Stefano Bellini? Ive heard youve been doing very well for yourself!_

_The young merchant looked up to see a ravishing blonde woman, dressed in a purple gown. She had a goblet of wine in her hand, a lovely smile etched across her face and a welcoming presence._

_And what happened next happened quickly._

_Stefanos hand came shooting out from his side only to strike the goblet out of the womans hand. The wine spilled out and onto her gown. _

_She let out gasp of horror loud enough to attract the attention of nearby dignitaries. _

_But Stefano wasnt finished yet whether by conscious thought or not, his hand shot out to slap the woman across the face. _

_Such was the force of the blow that she went down to the floor._

_Stefano blinked and then he looked over his shoulder_

_All he around he could sense a hundred or so eyes glare accusations at him, many voices whispering words of contempt and a rumbling that only spelt one thing: _

_Discontent _

_A shiver ran down his spine. _

_Again, the message was all-too clear: he didnt belong here. _

_The merchant paced up and down across the floor of his study. He could sense his breathing coming in and out in heavy bursts, his fingers fidgeting in an uncontrollable manner, and his eyes darting left, right and all the other directions. _

_At his desk, Stefano had set out numerous plans for the following day: Several business opportunities, a list of potential business partners, an item list describing the requirements of key companies in Remas, and a staffing schedule. Items that all demanded his attention as company director. A position he fought so hard so obtain._

_Funny how he wasnt finding much to enjoy from it even after coming so far._

_Stefano continued pacing, his pace quickening with each lap. _

_This incident at the dinner will no doubt have permanent effect on his standing: Having such a public outburst will discredit him, inspires scorn in amongst the eyes of his supporters and will be the talk of the town by tomorrow morning._

_And will no doubt drag the glorious name of his business into the mud. _

_What was he doing? He had the success he had strove so hard for. He should be overjoyed, not being overcome with such feelings of ill-will. _

_But_

_Something the matter? a voice demanded._

_Stefano nearly jumped out of his skin. He flicked his gaze around to see Alessandro standing near the chamber doorway, his back leaning against the wall. _

_III didnt see you come in Stefano mange to blurt out._

_Im an assassin Alessandro sneered Its part of my job_

_Really? the merchant said, his voice full of unease You dont say._

_The assassins brow furrowed, as years of instincts enhanced by danger urged him to keep quiet. _

_So, what business do you have, here? Stefano snapped. Make it quick! Im a busy man_

_Alessandro frowned. He could his master had a bad case of paranoia. _

_I am here for a new assignment he said The latest merchant you wanted me to kill? Hes now rotting at the bottom of a river some where_

_A poor choice of words. Stefano knew what the assassin was thinking and didnt like it. Somehow, he still managed his composure._

_Very good he said I have no need for you this evening - You are free to go. However I may have a new assignment for you this coming morning._

_Of course Alessandro said, his voice devoid of any emotion Its you with the money._

_Not to mention the targets_

_And with that, he quietly left the room. _

_The merchant ground his teeth. This assassin he certainly has some cheek about him playing him like that. In any case, he could be trouble he may know too much about Stefanos past dealings._

_And he may need to be taken care of.._


End file.
